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

by Emma Linfield

  Lord Alderbridge had come and gone. In fact, she’d seen him depart a little while ago. He’d entered his carriage just a few steps away from her. Yet, they each had pretended not to see the other. She was grateful that he had spared them both the embarrassment of having to converse. Considering the awful things he’d overheard just days before, it was remarkable he was even there at all.

  She could not help but wonder what they had talked about in her father’s study. Did he really know Ol…Lysander? If so, how?

  “May I sit here?” a voice suddenly came from behind her. She turned around and flinched when she saw him. It struck her that his voice sounded different. Deeper, surer of himself.

  He looked different too. He was no longer dressed in his simple, stained stable hand clothing. Instead of the simple shirt and trousers, he wore a pair of pantaloons, along with a crisp, white shirt. On top of that he wore a dark-green waist coat with gold button and a matching tailcoat over it. He even had a cravat on.

  Yes, he looked every bit like a duke, and nothing at all like the stable boy she’d spent an afternoon in a tree house with, hiding from a mysterious archer.

  Truly, she wondered if she knew him at all. A part of her closed off even further at the sight of him, afraid of having her heart broken.

  “That would be most improper, wouldn’t it?” After a moment she added “Your Grace.” He flinched at the title but gave her a nod.

  “I supposed a chaperone should be present, given the circumstances.” He glanced out over the garden ahead and waved at Cynthia, who was about to throw a stick for Mobsley to fetch. Instead, she lowered her arm and walked toward him.

  “Excuse me for one moment, Lady Seraphina,” he walked down the steps, conversed with her sister who glanced at her, before returning.

  Cynthia, meanwhile, made her way to the porch and sat down a few steps away from them. Far enough to give them privacy, yet close enough to chaperone their interaction.

  How different this was from their previous meetings. She longed for the days they snuck away to the paddock when she felt certain of his character, and her feelings. And his feelings for her. Now, everything was confusing, and she did not know what to think or feel.

  “I see you have been given clothing becoming of your station,” she said, aware that her voice sounded cold.

  He nodded, “Yes, indeed. Your father has been kind enough to provide me with some of his clothing. He has also given me a chamber in the Castle to stay at until my return home can be arranged.”

  Despite her ambivalence about the situation, the mention of his eminent departure made her heart drop.

  “You are to leave? When?”

  He shrugged and looked out over the garden, “I am not certain. Lord Alderbridge informed me that there has been a search for me. Conducted by my dear cousin Liam. He heard of it from a friend of his who has been in touch with Liam. Evidentially, rumors about the stranger without a memory at Vallant Castle has spread around Crewe. If my family has not learned of it yet, they will soon. I have sent a letter via messenger which should reach home by tomorrow.”

  Seraphina swallowed. If news of his location reached them tomorrow, the family would likely come to collect him within a few short days. Of course, there was the possibility of him hiring a carriage to take him home. Or perhaps her father would loan him one. Surely, her father was eager to have this Keswick out of his home sooner rather than later.

  “So, you knew Lord Alderbridge then? It is as you thought?”

  Lysander looked out over the garden. “I did. We went to school together, at Harrow. I did not know him well for he is a few years younger than me. He was in my brother’s class. However, we did know one another.”

  “Did he know how you came to be here or—” She stopped to remind herself that he would not need anyone to remind him of these things. He’d remember them himself now. “You already know. How you came to be here? Surely you must remember it along with everything else.”

  He bit his lip. “Some weeks ago, strange attacks upon my person began at home. My saddle was cut, boulders placed in the path of my curricle to cause an accident. I left to seek respite in Yorkshire, with Liam, the Earl of Millsbury.” He paused and swallowed.

  “I left my brother, Harry, in charge of finding the assailant while I sought shelter. However, they followed me. I took care not to ride my usual route to Yorkshire, but to no avail. I was tracked down and chased anyhow. So the archer who came after us was not sent by your parents, as you thought. Rather, he was sent after me. Why, I cannot tell you. Although I do know now that it was the same archer who caused me to fall off my horse. A fall which took my memory.”

  So that was how it all came about. Still, there was something else she did not understand.

  “Why were you here? So close to Vallant Castle, if you so despise our family?”

  His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head.

  “Why do you assume I despise your family? I believe we once spoke of this feud and I told you I thought it silly to fight over property.”

  She pursed her lips. A sudden urge to defend herself rose inside her, along with an uncomfortable feeling she could not quite place. Fear? Of what? She wasn’t sure.

  “I do also recall you saying that it was easy for me to say the feud was silly, given that it is my family who lives in the beautiful castle.”

  He frowned. “I did say that, yes. However, I did not know the circumstances. Indeed, I have always been of the belief that my family had no rights to the Castle. Certainly, not the right to live in it.” He shrugged. “I always felt that your Grandfather’s offer to sell it and share part of the profit with mine was a wonderful idea.”

  She looked at him from the side. His face was full of sincerity.

  “It is a shame your Grandfather did not take you up on the offer.”

  He sighed, “Indeed. Instead they engaged in a duel which we both know my Grandfather lost. Well, at least he did not lose his life over this,” he motioned to the Castle. “Losing fingers was enough for him to finally retreat.”

  Seraphina frowned. “But he did not. He tormented my Grandfather every chance he got.”

  She vividly recalled the stories told by her Father and Grandfather. The many ways Francis Keswick, the second Duke of Emberborough, had sought and found to derail and hurt her family at every opportunity.

  “He ridiculed my Grandfather at the House of Lords. He tripped my Grandmother up in front of the King, making her a laughingstock. He stole from and even vandalized my family’s London house. He was a terrible, terrible man.”

  She realized she was talking herself into a rage. To her surprise, Lysander pursed his lips and a frown appeared on his handsome face.

  “Lady Seraphina, I believe you know only half of the stories. For, I must say, your family did much of the same. Your Grandfather, and your Father both.”

  Seraphina jumped up. “My Father only defended himself. And…” Suddenly a thought came to her. She reached into the pocket of her reticule and pulled out the snuff box they had found in the tailcoat they’d assume belonged to her father.

  She held it up high. “The tailcoat in the forest was yours after all then. Which means someone in your family stole this from my Father! Was it you, perhaps?”

  The moment the accusation crossed her lips, she regretted it deeply. She wanted to apologize for the outburst, for she did not even know where it had come from, but it was too late. He had risen.

  “I did not steal from your family. You ought to know me better than that. You told me once you knew I was a good soul. A good person. Yet, now that you know who I am, you immediately stoop to accusing me of being a thief.” He snatched the snuff box out of her hand with a force so strong it made her step back.

  “This,” he held it up just as she had, “was indeed stolen from your Father. However, not by me. By my Father who thought it a wonderful prank. All of my childhood, I despised the glee with which he displayed it. Liam and I always planned
to use this as a peace offering toward your Father. To end the feud.”

  “Why does it have comfit in it then,” she asked weakly. She knew she had no defense for the way she’d acted.

  “I used it for my comfits so that each time I took it out of my pocket, it would remind me of its purpose. To keep me from falling into the same old cycle of anger and hatred as our Fathers, and Grandfathers before us.” He looked away, suddenly filled with pain. “I only wish you had something like it. It might have kept you from sinking into this hole of hate that has plagued us for so long. But I see it did not take much to make you follow into your family’s footsteps. Good day, Lady Seraphina.”

  He bowed before her and turned, stopping to also bow before Cynthia. Then, just as Seraphina remembered that she ought to curtsy, he disappeared inside, leaving her to fall into despair once more. This time caused by her own rash actions. As she began to sob, Cynthia rushed over and hugged her close. It did no good. As she stood there, crying for all she’d lost, she understood just why she’d grown so angry.

  It had been to protect herself. She’d given into anger she knew was unjustified and made accusations she knew to be baseless because she’d been scared. Scared he would not love her anymore now that he knew who he was. Scared her family would never allow them to be together. Scared that she would have her heart broken.

  And so, to protect her own heart, she’d broken his. And yet, somehow, she’d broken her own in the process. She’d chased him away, and with him any chance at happiness.

  Chapter 31

  It had been two days since Liam’s departure, and Harry found himself once more unable to sleep. His mind raced endlessly as he thought about what, or who, his cousin might find in Cheshire. Once again, he wandered the halls of the manor, waiting for sleep.

  Could it be? Could the man that was found without the memory on the Duke of Oxshire’s estate really be Lysander? No, surely not. Surely, on his quest to ride to Yorkshire, Lysander would not have taken such a severe detour, and so close to Vallant Castle.

  Lysander, dear Brother, even in your desire to end the feud, you would not have been so reckless, would you?

  But what if he had? Harry had to spend the past few nights considering his options. Should he travel to Cheshire himself? But to what end? If it was his brother, Liam was sure to take control of the situation. And if it wasn’t, they would know soon enough. Either way, there was not much for him to do.

  If the man was found to be a stranger, then they would need to move forward with the plan the three of them had agreed upon: Announce that His Grace, the Duke of Emberborough was missing.

  People were beginning to doubt their story anyhow, Harry knew as much. It wasn’t just the strumpet from the inn who had voiced these concerns. He heard it from his own valet, who in turned had heard the on dit. His Grace had simply never been away for so long, and so suddenly. The rumors about their London house standing empty only made the rumor mill spin faster.

  We should’ve thought of this. We should have said he traveled to Scotland instead of London. Such a stupid oversight. When I am Duke, I must do better.

  Harry found himself standing in front of Lysander’s study and pushed open the door. Stepping inside, he looked around. This had been his father’s study, and his grandfathers before that. Perhaps soon it would have to be his.

  He glanced at the large oak desk which sat in the middle of the room, a mahogany chair behind it. He walked around the desk and ran his hands across the back of the chair, feeling the smooth wood. All his life he had wondered what it would be like to sit behind this desk, to be in charge.

  Of course, he’d always known it was not his destiny, it was Lysander’s. He also knew this his brother would have given anything to be able to reverse their fortunes, to have Harry take his place. Alas, as the eldest son, he’d had no choice but to become Duke. And as the second, Harry’s destiny had been to carve his own path.

  And he had. He had worked on the estate for so long and done so much more than anybody knew. Really, he had to run the estate, not Lysander, and certainly not Mr. Preston, the hapless steward. No, it had been him, Harry, who had kept the estate running since the death of their father.

  He pulled the chair back and hesitated for a moment before sitting down. He laid his hands on the desk and glanced around the room. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent and imagining the business his grandfather had conducted here, the plans he’d made to reclaim their true home, Vallant Castle.

  “I see you are already making yourself comfortable in your brother’s seat,” his mother’s cold voice suddenly sounded out, startling him. His impulse was to jump up, to act like the naughty child she’d always treated him as. But he found himself defiant. If it was the seat behind the big desk, or the reality of the situation they were about to face, he didn’t know. But he felt it. A confidence he’d always lacked.

  “Good evening, Mother.”

  She stood in the door frame; her cold eyes fixed on him.

  “Do you not think it is a little bit premature for you to pretend you are Duke?”

  Hurt mixed in the steely tone of her voice. Somehow, he found that it no longer affected him.

  “It has been more than two weeks, Mother. If Liam does not find Lysander in Cheshire, which we both know he will not, then there’s nothing left to do but announce that my brother has vanished and is presumed dead. I am his heir, next in line. It is the order of things.”

  His mother exhaled and slumped against the tapestry, tears springing into her eyes.

  A part of him he wanted to jump up and comfort her, but another, the part that had suffered ridicule and cruelty at her hands for all these years, did not care about her pain. He’d had plenty of his own.

  Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “It is not what we wanted, Mother. I would much rather have my Brother back behind his desk safe and sound. I hope you know that. However, I must think of the future of the estate. Not just for Lysander, but for Papa, and our Grandfather who built this estate from nothing.”

  “This estate has no future, not without your Brother,” his mother said.

  She meant to hurt him. He knew this and thus did not react. He’d simply had to prove her wrong. And he would.

  “It is late, Mother. Why don’t you have a glass of wine, or cognac to help you rest easier?”

  At last, he got up and walked toward her, placing a hand gently on her arm. She pulled it away.

  “Do not treat me as though I am a child.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He walked past her and made his way down the hall when Redding, the butler, hastened toward them, a silver tray in his hand.

  “Mr. Keswick. A messenger arrived with a note for you.”

  He presented the tray to Harry who frowned and took it. He stared at the wax seal, his stomach turning in disgust. In a moment, his mother was beside him, breathlessly clawing at the letter when she recognized the seal.

  “It is the Duke of Oxshire’s seal! It must be from Liam! Let me see.”

  Harry turned, snatching the letter from her grasp. “It is addressed to me. I shall read it, Mother.”

  Her face fell then, and he saw that, for the first time in his life, his words had wounded her as hers had always wounded him.

  He broke the seal and read. As the meaning of the words registered in his mind, his heart sank. He swallowed and dropped his arm, the letter falling to the ground. His mother squatted down, snatching it before the butler could.

  She read the words with haste and then clasped his arm.

  “Lysander! It is from Lysander. He is alive and well! We must ready a carriage at once!”

  Without waiting for his reply, his mother started down the hall, calling for her lady’s maid and ordering the Redding to ready a carriage.

  Harry stood and glanced once more at the study and shook his head.

  Of all the places in the world, Lysander had to turn up in Cheshire, and o
n the Duke of Oxshire’s estate, at that. With a sigh, Harry closed the study door and walked toward his chamber to prepare for a trip he’d hoped he’d never have to take.

  Chapter 32

  Lysander walked along the path that led to the stable yard, deep in thought. It had been two days since he’d discovered his true identity. Two long days in which he’d found himself almost entirely alone. He’d not expected to see Seraphina, given her injured foot, nor Lady Cynthia, as she was her caregiver. The Duchess, meanwhile, horrified by his true identity, refused to invite him to dinner with the family and thus he’d eaten alone, in his chamber.