The Trouble with Saving a Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  He nodded, “I have. Exactly as you asked.”

  “You spoke to Lord Hendrickson, not Lord Westshire, I trust?”

  Harry balled his fingers into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

  Why must she question me every time? As if she does not know me at all. As if I have not obeyed her every word for every one of my two-and-twenty years.

  Of course, he did not say this. He kept his thoughts to himself, the same way he always did.

  “Yes, Mother, I met him at Cavendish’s. He was reading the paper and I struck up a conversation, just as you said.”

  His mother tightened her pelisse even further. The material stretched in a way that made Harry almost certain it would tear.

  “Good, good. Lord Hendrickson has always been a gabber. Word will spread that your brother was called away to London, thus nobody will wonder where he is.” She paused, “You said he was called away several days ago, yes?”

  This time, he could not help but sigh with exasperation.

  “Yes, I did. I used your exact words. I said he was called away due to urgent business in London. I was vague. Do not worry.”

  She pursed her lips and stared at him in the same disapproving manner she had always done. He swallowed. He didn’t know what he had to do to win her approval. Lysander won it with such ease. Indeed, it seemed as though their mother could not shower Lysander with enough affection.

  Stifling is what he’d called it. Harry blinked. There were days he would not mind being stifled with love, preferably by a woman.

  He had to admit, his brother had always been his hero. He’d looked up to him throughout their childhood and admired the ease with which he won friends. As an adult, he’d watched and learned as Lysander charmed every young lady at the various balls they were invited to.

  Things came easy to Lysander. They always had. He was charming, handsome, and always had a joke on his lips. He was and always had been their mother’s favorite.

  “Very well. We must ensure nobody finds out that Lysander has disappeared. It would destabilize the entire estate if it were known. And Heaven forbid something happened to him. Whatever would we do?”

  Harry shuddered at the thought of receiving unfavorable news about Lysander. If he were found harmed or worse, it would break their mother.

  “Allow me to escort you inside. You appear chilled.” He took her arm and they made their way inside the house. He was as calm as he could be on the outside; while inside, he raged.

  “Do not worry about the estate, Mother. You know that I am more than capable of running things around here while Lysander is gone. And if the worst should happen, rest assured I would keep the estate stable.”

  He would likely enhance things around the estate if he were duke. As much as Harry loved his brother, Lysander was not born to be duke. Well, technically he had been born for just that. But his nature and his character simply did not suit the position. Lysander would be the first to agree. The brothers had spent many an hour talking about how different their lives would have turned out had they freedom to choose the lives they wanted.

  He escorted his mother back to her chamber and assisted her into her armchair. She was not an old woman, but since the death of their father six months ago, she’d withered away. The last few days had struck her hard. Lysander’s sudden disappearance had caused her much distress.

  “It has been five days, Harry. Where could he have gone? On horseback?” She wrapped her cold hand around his wrist. “Why would he have left me behind like this? There must be a reason. You must know. He tells you everything. What is it, Harry?”

  Her voice was becoming louder and more hysterical with every word. He wrestled his hand away from her and stood in front of her, gently placing a pillow behind her.

  “Have a rest, Mother. You need it. You have hardly slept a wink. Your maid told me as much.”

  “Not until you tell me why your brother ran away as he did.”

  He covered his mother with her blanket as if she were a mere child. He did not wish to lie to her, but he knew he had to. He could not tell her the truth. She would worry even more and blame him. She always did.

  “Mother, I know what you know. He rode out, he didn’t come back. That is all. We are looking, discreetly. But as you said, we cannot make an announcement about his disappearance.” He shrugged. “I have sent a messenger to Liam, alerting him, however.”

  A calmness ran over his mother’s face. “Liam? That dear boy. My sister was ever so proud of him. Harry, that was indeed a splendid idea. Sometimes you surprise me with your finesse.”

  She was patting his hand, but it was a hollow gesture, for the compliment she’d paid him was also another jab. Another reminder that he was the lesser of her two sons. That she had no confidence in his abilities, even though he knew very well that he was much more suited to be duke than Lysander, who did not want the responsibility or the burden.

  “You should rest now. I will ask Dolly to wake you for dinner.”

  She nodded, her eyes already closing with exhaustion. He rose to depart but paused at the door when his mother’s voice called to him once more.

  “Harry?”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “We will find him, won’t we?”

  He frowned, wondering why she would question his dedication.

  “He is my Brother, Mother. The only brother I have. We might disagree at times, but I do not know how I would carry on without him. I simply refuse to imagine the worst. Lysander is capable. More than capable. He’s an excellent rider. Please, rest your mind. Leave the search to me.”

  She sighed heavily and rolled onto her side, her back now to him.

  Harry shook his head and left, closing the door gently behind him.

  Harry made his way down the stairs and into his brother’s study. He stepped in front of his large oak desk and ran his fingers along the edge of the smooth wood. He smiled as his eyes fell on a small, gold statue. It depicted a Rubenesque angel, as heinous as it was heavy. His father had hated the way it looked but loved it for what it meant.

  He’d won it at an auction many years ago and paid far too dear a price for it. However, he’d won it right out from under the feet of his long-standing rival, the Duke of Oxshire, who’d bid on it as a gift for his harpy of a wife. That fact alone had made it worth every guinea to his father.

  Dear Papa, you could be ever too stubborn. Just like Grandfather Francis.

  The Dukes of Oxshire and Emberborough had been engaged in a long-standing feud. The scuffle over the ugly angel had been one of their more minor battles.

  Harry sighed as he thought of the many hours their father had told them the stories of the feud which now stretched more than one-hundred years. He missed his father, missed his stories. He missed that his father believed in him the way his mother never would.

  Harry looked up at his father’s empty chair and remembered him sitting there: so proud, so in control. It was almost as if it was yesterday that he’d been here, among them. And then, death had caught him. One day he had been riding out with Harry and Lysander, the very next the butler had found him dead on the floor in the drawing room.

  His heart had given out, the physician said. Just like that. Harry shook his head and turned his back on his father’s desk. His brother’s desk now. He glanced at the painting hung above the fireplace. There he was. His brother. His hero from the time they were children.

  Lysander, if Mother knew the truth of what happened to you, I fear she would not survive it. I shall keep it a secret to protect her for the both of us.

  He stepped outside the office, his heart heavy with the truth that weighed heavily upon him. The thought of his brother out there alone made him shudder.

  He’d told his mother a half lie. He knew why Lysander had left. What he didn’t know was where. Nor was he able to answer the one question his mother repeated time and again. Would he return?

  Harry could not answer it, but it was the one thing he too
longed to know. Albeit for entirely different reasons.

  Chapter 6

  The following morning, he rose, his head no longer swimming. A dull ache remained in the back of his head, but he could stand without supporting himself on the bedframe.

  He managed to dress himself without assistance. The clothing that a maid had laid out for him felt odd. He didn’t think he’d ever worn anything like it before, but he couldn’t be sure. Since he did not know who he was or where he was from, there was no way of knowing what he’d worn.

  This feels unnatural. It looks unnatural on me.

  He examined himself in the mirror with a critical eye. The clothes that had been put out for him were meant for a stable hand. Which is what they had told him he was to be for the foreseeable future. He would be given a room above the stable and board, in exchange for work with the horses. Until such a time when he could recover his memory. Whenever that was to be.

  He ran his hand along the trousers he’d been given. The material was coarse and felt odd on the palms of his hands. He lifted both hands and examined them. They were smooth, with faint calluses just along the top of his palms, perhaps from holding the reins of a horse.

  Other than that, his hands were not those of a stable boy, nor a farm hand.

  What was I? A merchant? A noble man like the duke perhaps?

  He shook his head. Certainly not. He didn’t know why, but he was sure that aristocracy did not agree with him. No. He had to have been a traveling merchant of some kind when he was assaulted and had his accident.

  A knock on the door caught his attention and he turned around. The young woman who had tended to him, along with her older sister, stepped into the room. Seraphina was her name. And Cynthia, her sister. He’d memorized their names, relieved that at least new information appeared safe inside his head.

  “Oliver, I see you found the clothing. I hope it fits.” She stopped just beyond the door and looked him up and down, hear head tilted to one side as if considering his appearance.

  Oliver. That was the name the Master of the House, a man named Augustus Camden, Duke of Oxshire, had decided to give him. Why, he did not know. He did know that Oliver was not his name. He couldn’t say why. The same way he knew that he was not a stable hand. It was impossible to explain, however.

  Given that I have nowhere to go and do not know my actual name, I suppose I shall be Oliver the stable hand for now.

  “They fit just fine. I thank you.” He bowed his head to her, and she appeared to blush when he looked up. She was lovely looking indeed. Deep, dark eyes set in an oval, pale face that was framed by dark hair. Currently it was pinned back in a bun with some ringlets falling down just past her shoulders. Her dress, blue and flowy, exposed her collar bones which transfixed him for reasons unknown.

  “Very well. My father was going to have George, our groom, escort you to the stable yard. However, I am on my way there myself and so I thought I would spare George the walk here. It is a bit far.” She turned toward the door while he stood still for a moment before realized that he was to follow her.

  Quickly, he put on the boots he had been provided and placed the cap on his head. He rushed after her and they stepped out into the hallway of the great mansion in which he found himself. He took in the grand paintings and tapestries which lined the walls and found himself impressed by the marble floors.

  “I was about to ask if you are familiar with caring for the horses, but I supposed you would not know.”

  “I suppose not.” He stopped, not sure how to address her. Sensing the question on his lips she smiled.

  “Lady Seraphina. Although when it’s just the two of us, Seraphina will be fine as well. I do not care for titles.”

  Somehow, this declaration struck a chord within him. He did not have time to question what it might mean, because she stopped in front of one of the rooms.

  “This is my Father’s library,” she motioned toward the door to their right. “I love it here. It is beautiful. We have the most marvelous bay windows, with seats that allow you to look at the lake. Here, let me show you.”

  She started toward the room and glanced over her shoulder, inviting him to join her with a nod of the head.

  He stepped into the room and was at once in awe of it all. Huge mahogany shelves lined the walls from the floor all the way to the tall ceilings. The shelves were full of books of assorted sizes. There had to be hundreds. He stepped to one of the shelves and tilted his head to read the covers of some of the treasures in this library. He spotted many leather-bound first editions as well as the complete Encyclopedia Britannica.

  How immensely rich this Duke has to be to afford so many books.

  In the middle of the room were four carved, wooden pillars, designed to look as though they held up the ceiling, although he knew at once they were just for decoration. He looked up to find the ceiling covered in a gothic painting of angels. Definitely not modern. He spotted several library steps, made of matching mahogany wood with embossed with golden skin.

  In the middle of the room was a low, wooden table, surrounded by four large arms chairs, upholstered with red, velvet material.

  “I love books,” Seraphina said with her back to him. She was squatting down and peering at a row of books at the far end of the library. “Do you?” she glanced back at him and swiftly moved her hand in front of her mouth.

  “I am sorry. I forget that you would not know.”

  He smiled at her and shrugged. “It is quite all right. Please, do not worry. I know this is an unusual situation for all of us.” He walked toward her, his steps echoing in the large room. “I am very grateful to His Grace for allowing me to remain here until I am recovered.”

  She rose and smoothed her dress, then tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

  “My Father is a caring man. He would not set a person without memory out into the world. It is inhumane, to say the least.” She had two books in her hands, and he glanced down to read their titles, pleased to learn that he could read. Another sign that he was not a member of the poorest of the poor.

  Noticing his interest, she straightened the books so he could see better. One was titled ‘The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne’, by Ann Radcliff.

  “I have read it before. It is about the feud between the families who occupy the two respective castles,” she said.

  “You must have enjoyed it to read it again.”

  She nodded. “I did. I find I relate to novels that feature feuds, for my family has been engaged in a feud with another dukedom for as long as I can remember, so it is familiar.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A feud?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it is all rather silly. If it were up to me the whole thing should be long buried, for so many years have passed and those who started it have passed on. Alas, it is not up to me.”

  She walked across the room and stopped in front of a row of large paintings, some filling up almost the entire length from floor to ceiling. With her free hand she pointed at one of the paintings.

  “This is the Marquess of Borough. He was my Great-Grandfather. He built this castle. Well, he and the Earl of Swift, who is the ancestor of the other party. They were great friends and built this home together on behalf of Queen Anne. It is a lengthy story which I will not bore you with. Sufficient to say, this castle in which you stand is the reason for the feud.”

  She shook her head and he watched as her raven-colored hair moved softly with each shake of the head. When she looked at him, he was struck by the starkness of her eyes. They were of a deep brown and he felt almost as if he could see her soul through them.

  “Can you imagine? Generations of arguments and hatred, all over a castle?”

  “It is easy to say when you are the one who is living in it, I suppose,” he said the words before even knowing where they came from. He stepped back. “Forgive me, My Lady. I did not mean to overstep.”

  These people are giving you a home while you recover. Do not offend them. Especially not
her.

  To his relief, the Lady Seraphina did not appear to take any offense.

  “I suppose,” she shrugged and turned, making her way toward the door. “However, if it were up to me, I would gladly live elsewhere, if it meant the feud would end. Can you believe that I’ve never even met any of the other family? That is how deep the feud runs.”

  Again, she shook her head and he followed, an odd tension in his stomach. Something about her story rang familiar with him, but he could not think of why or how.

  “A shame, indeed.” He said it ever so quietly and followed her back into the grand hallway.

  They walked in silence down the stairs. He realized that she glanced back at him on occasion, a curious expression on her face.