The Unusual Story of the Silent Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  “Randolph! We’re leaving!”

  “Sorry then,” Randolph mumbled, handing the apron back to Oliver.

  “Good to meet you,” Oliver nodded. “You best run along.”

  “Randolph!”

  “Yeah, I best,” Randolph smiled, shook Oliver’s hand, and went to the shouting merchant in the foyer.

  “Ready then sir?” Randolph asked, approaching.

  “I’ve only been calling for you,” Julian snapped back. “Come, let us be off.”

  Out they went to the driveway, and Mr. Marton helped Julian into his coach.

  “Finally,” the coachman muttered as he struck forward the reins, and the two-horse team began to clatter forward. It was perhaps six then, and the sun beat down with its final energy. The grey sky of the morning had been burnt away by the October radiance, and where there was once frost on the grass, all had melted, revealing a brilliant shimmer over the hills for the whole of the day. Then the sun had moved to set again, and the shadows were cast long by the tree lines, and a chill swept up in the breeze.

  * * *

  “It’s a beautiful sunset, sir,” Randolph remarked.

  “So, it is,” Julian grumbled ironically. “Another slice of natural beauty.”

  “We’re headed back to London, sir?”

  “You clearly heard me tell the coachman so,” Julian snapped, and Randolph fell silent, bowing his head to the floor. He watched as each jostle of the coach caused his feet to bump up against each other, sending a small clack up to his ears.

  “How was your meeting, sir?” Randolph broached.

  “Pointless,” Julian muttered. “I thought I might make something of it, but it seems the Duke is not the man I thought him to be.”

  “Is that good or bad, sir?”

  “Well, it is not good,” Julian sneered. “But at least he made whole his sum. I fear he will not be able to contribute the way I had previously hoped.”

  The carriage wound back down the hilly road, and as it cut back for the third time, Julian caught sight of something truly remarkable.

  There she was, the woman of his dreams, running through the damp meadow, holding the hand of a little girl. How could it be? How had she come to be here? Who was the child? His brain began to race alongside his heart as he watched Mary-Anne from afar.

  He had heard nothing of her since the night in his carriage, not that he hadn’t been looking. He had assumed she died out there in the terrible cruelty of the storm. And yet there she was, running gleefully through a meadow with a small child attached. There could be no mistaking it. That was her alright, Mary-Anne Barnes.

  I have found you! At last, I have found you!

  * * *

  Neil was exhausted after the afternoon with Mr. Bastable. He had scarfed down his meal, patted Kaitlin on the head, kissed Phyllis on the forehead, and quickly retreated to his office. Thomas found him there to serve up some brandy and left Neil staring at the rising moon in silence.

  Neil let the alcohol soak into him slowly while he admired the night sky. The meeting today with Mr. Bastable had reminded him so thoroughly why he declined entering the outside world so often. He had found much of it the way Mr. Bastable had described, filthy and full of suffering.

  Yet there was beauty in the world too, and Neil took it in then with large drinks of the moonlight.

  The meeting had left a strange taste in his mouth. Mr. Bastable was a strange character, but one he had been willing to indulge for the sake of business. Now he was not so sure of his decision, for the man had spoken with such hatred and malevolence about certain matters.

  Then again, Neil knew nothing about business, and this upstart from the Indian colonies certainly did. Perhaps it was not of serious consequence, but it was something to be conscious of.

  Neil pushed open his double doors and stepped out onto his office balcony.

  The night air was astonishingly cold, and Neil stiffened against the gust of breeze that met him on the marble. It was so abrasive that he would have immediately turned around if it weren’t for some movement to his right that caught his attention.

  The door to the servant hallways clicked open, and Emily walked out, hauling a bucket of food scraps towards the pig pens. Neil was taken aback by her striking beauty, lit up brightly in the silver light of the moon. Her hair glimmered, and her skin shone, and Neil caught himself admiring her for the duration of her walk to the livestock.

  After she dumped out the contents, she turned back towards the house and caught sight of Neil, who stood out as a silhouette on the balcony.

  Feeling foolish for watching her, Neil offered up a wave with his brandy glass, and she returned it. She walked back to the manor, picking up her skirts to avoid the gathering frosts. When she drew to the servant door nearby to Neil’s balcony, he called out to her, unsure of what to say.

  “Cold night,” Neil offered, stuttering a bit from a lack of confidence and the bite of the cold. Emily nodded to him with a smile, shivering. “Don’t freeze on my account,” he waved again, gesturing for the door. He wanted to talk to her, but he also realized it was terribly breezy and cold.

  Emily ducked into the servant door, and Neil cursed himself for stuttering. He wanted to impress this woman, and he did not fully understand why.

  Chapter 19

  “Well, would you at least consider it?” Phyllis asked, folding her hands in her lap. “You heard Mr. Eddington, just as I did.”

  “I did, Grandmother. What of it?” Neil said, sitting across from her in the west sitting room.

  “This next season he will only be available within London,” Phyllis protested. “Kaitlin needs her lessons. If she simply quits it, she will forget it all.”

  “She doesn’t enjoy playing the piano, Grandmother,” Neil said, flatly. “Why make her play? Why travel all the way to London to do so? I won’t hear any more of it.”

  “There are other reasons one might travel to London,” Phyllis said, inclining her head. “A great number of reasons, but for one, you are a member of the House of Lords. You could be a part of parliament again. You seemed to like the work.”

  “Perhaps,” Neil sighed. “But all in good time. I am in no rush, as I am sure they are not praying for my return. I did not have many friends there, and it is hard to do one’s job in such a setting.”

  “Perhaps that was due to your proposed military reforms,” Phyllis chided, knowing full well that was the case.

  “What good is parliament if it is not used for reform? That was why I went there in the first place,” Neil challenged, and Phyllis waved away the old argument with her aging hands.

  “Enough,” she said. “I only mean that you should not deprive the child of her music lessons because you do not wish to sit in parliament.”

  “I know what you meant, Grandmother,” Neil said. “And I was simply arguing against forcing the girl to play something she does not wish to.”

  “It is important to keep her busy,” Phyllis countered. “The devil makes work of idle hands. She needs structure, among other things.”

  “She seems to keep herself busy enough,” Neil said, yawning. “It is growing late, Grandmother, we should both retire.”

  “At least we can agree on something,” she said, looking warmly at her grandson. Then her face began to change, as she became confused in her memories. Neil saw her face changing and called out for Ruth and Emily as Phyllis grasped out at the air. “Is that you, Arthur, back from parliament! Oh, joy! Where is Emily, we must prepare something for him.”

  “We’re right here, Your Grace,” Ruth said, hurrying in with Mary-Anne.

  “Oh! My Grandson to war! I cannot bear it!” Phyllis shouted, twisting in her chair. Bonaparte is fine enough, leave him be! Leave him be!” she called out, flailing her arms against the table.

  “It’s me, Grandmother, I’m alright,” Neil said, leaning across the table and taking her shaking hands.

  “Arthur, how could you?” she wailed. “How could you do
this?”

  “It’s alright, Your Grace, we’ve got you,” Ruth said, gently propping Phyllis beneath one of her arms. Mary-Anne moved to support the other, and they began to help the poor lady to bed, sobbing all the while.

  “Leave him be,” she cried. “The crown doesn’t need him! Get somebody else!”

  Neil watched, heartbroken, as his grandmother was helped up the stairs, then a creaking floorboard caused him to spin about. Kaitlin stood in one of the door frames, hiding half of her face from view.

  “Kaitlin,” Neil leaned down to her height, beckoning with outstretched arms. “Come here.”

  She ran to him. He scooped her up with a flourish, and she latched her arms around his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong with Grandmother?” she asked timidly.

  “She is very old,” Neil said, rocking Kaitlin back and forth. He walked her down the hall into his favorite room, the south-facing drawing room, and together they watched out the large window at nothing in particular.

  “Why is she so sad?” Kaitlin asked.

  “She is confused,” Neil said, feeling a tear well up in one of his eyes. “She can’t remember things.”

  “Like what things?” Kaitlin asked with that childhood innocence Neil dreaded to endanger.

  “Well,” he began, sinking into a chair and setting Kaitlin on his knee. “Sometimes she doesn’t know what year it is.”

  “What else?”

  “Sometimes,” he sucked in his breath. “She thinks that I am someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “My father,” Neil said.

  “You mean grandfather?”

  “Yes, Kaitlin, Grandfather.”

  “But he is dead, right?”

  “That’s right child.” He held her head in his shoulder to hide his tears.

  “Just like other grandmother and mother.”

  “Just like them,” he whispered.

  “What were they like?” she asked, pulling back. Then, seeing his tears, she said, “Don’t cry, Papa!”

  “Oh,” Neil wiped the tears on his sleeve at looked into his daughter’s eyes. “They were all wonderful people. They all would have been so proud of you.”

  “Why does Grandmother think that you are my dead grandfather?” Kaitlin asked, and this question brought another wave of tears to Neil’s face that he couldn’t stop, and he sobbed into his sleeve for a full minute before gathering his breath for an answer. “I don’t know, child. I wish I did.”

  “Me too,” Kaitlin said.

  Neil held his daughter and rocked with her for a moment, trying hard to keep from crying further, until finally, he set her down on her feet.

  “Now, does Betsey know you’re out of bed?” He looked at her. Kaitlin shook her head. “Then you better go back, so she doesn’t find out, go on!” he teased, and Kaitlin ran off to bed giggling.

  Neil watched her go and let out a long sigh, shaking his head, and further drying his face on his clothes. He stood up, brushing his clothes straight out of habit, and walked over to one of the intricately carved and painted side tables. He took out the centre drawer and pulled from it a small wooden box. Undoing the clasp, he let the rich aroma of American tobacco waft up into his nose.

  Neil took one of the slim cigars from the box and set it back into its place, chopping off the ends with a small apparatus set on top of the side table. He then struck a match and puffed the end to a steady glow, and let himself outside into the crisp, cool night.

  Neil rarely smoked. The cigars had been a gift several years ago, and he only ever took one from the box when he truly wanted to step away from everything for a while.

  The trail of smoke from the end of the cigar trailed inward with the breeze, filling into Neil’s drawing room, and he clicked his tongue to himself for leaving the door open. He could not understand how some people smoked openly and to excess in their homes; it turned the air stale and heavy in a room, lingering and overbearing.

  Instead of closing it, however, he turned back to watch out over the forest hills. Down in the village, he could see twinkling lights of candles and oil lamps, and they shone distorted through the low fog that crept in from the water.

  * * *

  A gentle knock on one of the doors behind him caused him to turn around, and he saw the woman, Emily, standing in the doorway.

  She put her hands together and rested her face on them, indicating that Phyllis was finally asleep.

  “Thank the Lord for that,” Neil said, gesturing with his cigar. She was about to turn away when he said, “Thank you, Emily, for everything. You have been a wondrous help with my Grandmother. You of all people have come to understand just how difficult she can be at times.”

  Mary-Anne halted, feeling herself blush. She thanked God for the cover of darkness to hide her face. She waved her hand in a way to say, It’s alright, no need to thank me.

  “No, I must thank you,” Neil said, turning to face her in the cloud-filtered moonlight. “You have made a world of difference here, in both the lives of my daughter and my Grandmother.”

  Mary-Anne did not know what to do. Oh, how I wish I could speak to him, she craved. Instead, I am standing here like some common fool. Her eyes darted down to the cigar in an effort to avoid his gaze.

  “Oh, this?” Neil said, brandishing the tobacco. “I don’t even enjoy them, truly,” he said. “They just, well, I suppose they remind me of a simpler time.”

  Mary-Anne inclined her head, inviting him to share more. She felt a warmth washing out from him that was enthralling and moved a step closer to him. Her brain yelled out —What are you doing? Run away! —but to no avail.

  “A simpler time,” Neil laughed. “How foolish that sounds. Life is simpler now than in the army, though it only seems the opposite. I smoked in the service, you see, from time to time, when we were lucky enough to have it, that is,” Neil trailed off, his mind bouncing around between different vivid experiences. “Forgive me, I am boring you.”

  Mary-Anne shook her head, stepping forward again. She drew her hands together in a gentle way and beckoned with her head for the Duke to continue speaking.

  “I suppose it makes me feel like I am that young man again,” Neil said. “With the whole world ahead of me, back when people were still alive.”

  * * *

  Mary-Anne went up to him now and placed her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Neil felt the warmth of her palm and basked in it, shook by a genuine expression of tenderness. Something went through him, from his toes to the hair on the top of his head, and he dropped his cigar by accident. It sizzled out on the damp flagstone, and the two met eyes in close proximity.

  There was something there, something teasing at the edges of both of their consciousness. It was something real, undefined, and raw, a feeling like Neil had not felt in four years, and it startled him. He withdrew from the touch, stunned by its effect, and tried to speak but found his words lacking.

  Neil cleared his throat abruptly, choking on the remainder of cigar smoke in his mouth, and fast became enormously embarrassed.

  “I- I,” and then Neil turned and went off as fast as his legs could carry him. Fool! He chastised himself, slapping himself across the cheek as he rounded the corner. What was that? You choked on your own spit!

  Neil slowed down a moment to consider what had just happened. He had felt a true connection with a person, and a person who could not speak for that matter. The realization rattled him, for he had not ever given the idea of romance another serious thought since the death of his wife. Even when dismissing the poor Tamworth girl, he had thought he had done it out of an inability to face love again.

  Is it? Neil’s heart beat through his throat and butterflies about his belly. Is it that I am in love?

  Chapter 20

  “It was her, Randolph! I swear it!” Julian shouted, bursting back into his office.

  “Who, sir?” Randolph asked. “That woman on the corner? She is back to her blue ruin if you ask me.”
r />   “No! What? Never mind that drunkard. Have you not been listening? The Barnes girl!” Julian insisted. “I saw her! You remember, I told you of her, the woman from the broken-down carriage.”

  “Of course, sir,” Randolph said, pretending to remember. Julian was always rambling on and on about one thing or the other. “But what about her?”

  “She was there! On the Rutland estate! I saw her playing with a child!”