The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “Perfectly understandable. Roger, should there not be a hod in this room? I know it was your mother’s favorite, and she liked to brew her own tea.”

  “Truly, I have no idea, Aunt Garrity,” the Duke replied. “I think it likely, but I didn’t want to dig through things.”

  An odd expression flitted briefly across Herbert’s face, but it was gone before Dahlia could decide what it was. It looked as if Aunt Amelia was not going to have such restraint, however, so Dahlia quickly plunged into polite conversation.

  “I am curious, Aunt Amelia, why it is that the Duke calls you Aunt Garrity, but you asked me to call you Aunt Amelia?”

  “Oh, well,” Mrs. Garrity said, “You see Roger had a great-aunt who was also named Amelia. I was not long married when Roger was born, so it was decided that he would call me Aunt Garrity. He called my husband Uncle Garrity because he just couldn’t quite manage to say Uncle Aloysius. We did enjoy having him and Herbert come to visit. What a pair they were, always into something.”

  “I see.” Dahlia yawned mightily, trying to hide it behind her hand fraction of a second too late. Sleepily, she leaned a little into the Duke’s support.

  Just then Peter returned with a tray that held three more cups, a strainer, the cakes, a neat stack of little bowls and spoons as well as a pot of jam. “Excellent!” Aunt Garrity exclaimed. “Peter, you are a gem beyond price.”

  In a trice, Peter and Herbert had set a small tea table beside the fire. Aunt Garrity strained the barley water into cups. As she predicted, there was plenty to go around. “It wants a bit of mint,” she commented as she added a dollop of honey to each cup, “but it would be a bit beyond reasonable to expect Peter or any of the staff to go pick some at this hour.”

  Roger settled Dahlia back in the wingback chair where she had been seated before the tisane boiled over. He then insisted that Peter and Herbert should join them in having a cup of barley tisane. Those two worthies unbent enough to accept a cup each, although they took theirs standing to one side rather than sitting down.

  Mrs. Garrity continued to regale the assembly with the high jinx that Roger and Herbert had gotten up to as boys. “…and there they were, under the azaleas with the evidence on their face and hands.”

  Under the influence of the conversation, the warmth from the hearth, and the soothing drink, Dahlia felt herself beginning to relax. The Duke sat on a stool beside her chair and encouraged her to lean against him. It is almost like being back in the classroom with Miss Emma and my sisters, only perhaps a little bit better.

  The soft rumble of Roger’s voice as he protested his aunt’s accounts of his shortcomings somehow made her feel more secure than she had since her mother’s death.

  I could get used to this. I think I quite like the idea of marrying the Duke; he is so kind. Now, if we can just get through the next few weeks without something dreadful happening…

  Chapter 22

  Roger smiled as he felt Dahlia was beginning to relax. He would have liked to have had a little more time with her alone, but their impromptu little feast was having the desired effect of soothing her fears.

  Dahlia had leaned the side of her face against his shoulder, her down swept eyelashes making shadows on her cheeks in the candlelight. A sound came from her mouth that a less charitable listener would have called a snore.

  “Aunt Garrity.” Roger nodded his head toward Dahlia. “I think my fellow adventurer has succumbed to the arms of Morpheus. Will you trust me to take her back to her room?”

  “I think she is a little siren who now holds you in thrall, Nephew. But I believe you to be honorable enough to see her to her door and yourself out of it with nothing untoward occurring between the two of you.” Aunt Garrity shook her finger at Roger. “Mind your manners, Nephew.”

  “I will, Aunt, I promise,” Roger said, “more for her sake than for any other. What a bright, free spirit she is! I would do nothing to take advantage of that, although I’ll own that it is my hope that she will remain with me.”

  With that, he leaned over the sleeping figure and gently touched her hand. His heart warmed as her fingers curled trustingly around his, and she opened sleep-dimmed eyes to look up at him. “My Lady, let’s get you back to your bed,” he spoke very gently, “Herbert will light the way for us.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Your Grace. I think I must have fallen asleep.” Dahlia struggled into a more upright sitting position.

  “Indeed, you did, My Lady, and you have forgotten to call me Roger.” He offered his arm for her support as she struggled to her feet.

  She stood for a moment, blinking in the soft light of the candles and the fire on the hearth. “Oh, my, I did, didn’t I?” Then with a spark of her usual vivacity, “It would not do to flout a ducal directive, so, Roger you are, and I shall call you so. But you must call me Dahlia. Did I not say you should?”

  “Dahlia,” Roger said, savoring the name. “My Lady Dahlia.” They gazed at each other as if no one else was in the room.

  Herbert cleared his throat. Peter put on his most stoic butler face. Aunt Garrity made a soft sound that might have been a chuckle. “Children,” she said, “The two of you might be enjoying these nighttime adventures, but Peter would like to bank the fire so that Herbert and I can make our way to our beds. Avoid discommoding your serving staff at all costs. They are essential to your well-being.”

  As Roger watched, Dahlia colored up prettily, glanced down at herself, and cinched the tie on her wrapper more tightly about her. “I’ve made a complete Guy of myself, haven’t I?”

  “Not at all.” Roger thought the little tendrils of curls that were escaping her night cap incredibly charming, and the way that little bit of lace and muslin had gone eschew absolutely enchanting. What would it be like to twine one of those curls around my fingers?

  But their intimate little dinner of barley water and groats had grown into a late evening supper, complete with audience. So, he could only hold out his arm and hope she would rescue him from complete idiocy.

  Which she did, trustingly placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, a more intimate gesture than the formal placing of a hand on top of the arm. “Thank you, Roger. Thank you, everyone. What an adventure this has been. I should have been quite lost without you. If you had not found me, I should have been wandering the by-ways of your manse forever.”

  “I am glad I have discovered you, then,” he said gallantly, “I much prefer the corporeal lady to a wan ghost haunting my halls.”

  “Nephew,” Aunt Garrity said, “Your Lady is going to catch her death of standing about in drafts if you do not get her back to her chambers.”

  Dahlia laughed. Roger thought he will never get tired of that musical sound!

  “Aunt Amelia means that she would like to go back to her bed, Your Grace. I mean Roger.” Dahlia leaned against his shoulder and smiled up at him.

  Roger returned the smile, placing his free hand over her small hand where it rested on his arm. “Then we should get you back to your rooms. Do you think you can sleep now?”

  “I think so. You brew a most marvelous tisane.” she yawned prettily. “Oh, dear, my manners are completely wanting.”

  “We brew a lovely tisane,” Roger corrected gently, “with just a little bit of help.”

  “Help is always good.” She yawned again. “Oh, dear, I think I should go back to bed. Please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Roger said. “I could watch you sleep forever, but we shall, no doubt, have much to do tomorrow.” He steered her deftly through the door and into the hallway, as if they were on a ballroom floor threading their way amidst a crowd of dancers. Herbert slipped out after them, carrying a lantern, lighting their way and acting as chaperone at the same time.

  Roger would have cheerfully taken the lantern and sent Herbert off on some errand, but Aunt Garrity was no doubt watching and he had promised to be on his best behavior.

  Dahlia seemed to truly be sleepy now, and she leaned a little more he
avily on his arm. Her little slippers made soft scuffing noises on the polished wooden floors.

  Herbert went ahead to open the door. As he did so, something flew through the open casement window and landed on the floor with a thump.

  The object sparked, and then began to emit large popping sounds. Suzanne leaped up, shrieking, from the trundle bed where she had lain asleep. With great presence of mind, Herbert grabbed the ewer off the nightstand and drenched the popping bundle before it could do more than put a few burned holes in the bed curtains.

  Meanwhile, there was a loud CRASH! from the front of the house. Shouts of alarm could be heard and running feet.

  “Herbert!” Roger shouted.

  “I have it, Captain,” he returned, sprinting out the door and toward the west wing whence the commotion arose.

  “Dahlia,” Roger said, “Let me return you to the parlor. I do not think you should stay here.”

  “I will take her to my rooms. They have the shutters up.” Aunt Garrity hastened to them, her wrapper flapping and her nightcap ribbons fluttering in the air stirred by her passage.

  “No! I want to come with you!” Dahlia protested.

  The thought of his lady’s slender form exposed to danger made Roger’s blood turn cold. “Go with my aunt,” he directed. “Let me see what is afoot.”

  He turned and ran after Herbert, leaving Dahlia in the care of Aunt Garrity, Suzanne and Jemmy, the footman.

  He found Lord Bochil in the hall just outside his room, pounding on the closed door. “Sir!” the young gentleman gasped, “I am glad to see you. I think they have set an incendiary off inside your rooms.”

  “Herbert! Start a brigade!” Roger opened the door a crack. No flames, just a lot of smoke and more of the popping bangs like those that had gone off in Dahlia’s room. “Never mind that!” he called back, grabbing the ewer off the nightstand and dumping it over the popping, snapping bundle. This one had had more time to do damage, however, and the bed curtains were alight. Roger yanked the heavy curtains off their rings, bundling the folds over the flames.

  Herbert appeared at the door with a pail of water and doused the smoldering cloth.

  “Report!” Roger commanded.

  “A firework launched from a small cannon at the front door, Sir,” Herbert barked back as if he were replying to Captain Kingman. “Two more rooms with the windows smashed and fireworks thrown through them. Part of the kitchen garden trampled and the outhouse overturned. Fire started in the stable, but the lads were able to put it out. We have the horses in the exercise paddock, just in case.”

  “Excellent work,” Roger replied. “Any sign of the intruders?”

  “Just some ragged figures running away. Two of the footmen gave chase but were quickly outdistanced. Whoever they were, they clearly know the area.”

  Peter came up to them, his usually immaculate waistcoat smudged, his collar and neckcloth missing. “Such a thing, Your Grace!” he remarked, “In all the years your family has had this house, I’ve not seen the likes of it. We shall have to keep watch, as if it were rebellion times.”

  “Do you remember the rebellion times?” Roger asked, his eyes fixed on the butler.

  “No, no,” Peter waved one hand dismissively, “That was before my time, Your Grace. But my Great-Great-Grandfather remembered them. He took great relish in telling about Guy Fawkes, or so my Grandfather said.

  Roger did some mental calculations. “Guy Fawkes fell from the scaffold 211 years ago. Is that possible?”

  “I might have missed a “great” or two,” Peter said. “But the point is this house was not even touched during the Great Fire, although servants were stationed on the roof with tubs of water and grain sacks to beat out the flying embers. Why should this be happening now?”

  “Why, indeed.” Roger frowned. “I’ve a mind to remove the household to the country estate, including the townhouse staff.”

  “Won’t do, Your Grace,” Herbert said. “Most have connections in the Town and would be hard-pressed to be moved so.”

  “Even if I moved their families?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Your Grace, while a lot of them are dependent on their positions, others have family that has businesses hereabouts. You’d be uprooting more than you think.” Herbert looked apologetic.

  “You might well be right.” Roger sighed. “It isn’t quite like moving troops about. Still, I am concerned for the safety of Lady Dahlia and my Aunt Garrity, as well as the women on the serving staff. If this is only an opening barrage, as I fear it might be, then subsequent action could become very ugly.”

  “You have not enough staff without us,” Aunt Garrity appeared in the doorway. She was now dressed in her usual sensible gray gown. Dahlia was right behind her, also dressed in a plain brown walking dress, and her maid – likewise attired – was close behind her.

  “I do not wish to leave you and my brother in danger,” Dahlia said.

  “Moreover, Sir,” Bochil put in, “We could as easily be sending them into danger instead of out of it. At least here we know the battleground.”

  “I’ve not enough staff to defend this place. Nor is it very defensible,” Roger pointed out.

  “Your point is well taken, Your Grace,” Herbert replied, “but the country estate is not a fortress, either, no matter how we wished it so when we were boys.”

  “Hire some more staff,” Lord Bochil suggested. “I can stand surety for some,” while at the same time Dahlia said, “Arm the women. We are not helpless.”

  “We can make it more defensible by putting up the shutters and closing the gates, Your Grace,” Peter added. “Perhaps morning will bring better answers.”

  “One at a time, please, one at a time.” Roger held up his hands. “Were you my troops in the field, I’d be issuing extra duties about now. Hush, now, let me think.”

  The assembled household, now including several more servants, fell silent.

  “Peter,” Roger said, turning to the butler, “your idea of putting up the shutters is a good one. Close the gates, and put a guard on the horses, but keep them in the paddock. Also, put the carriage and the curricle by the kitchen and put the harness in the vehicles. If they manage to alight the hay, I want our means of escape easily at hand.” He paused, and thought a moment, “Aunt, my Lady Dahlia, can you organize the kitchen help and the rest of the staff to fill water containers? I want every tub, basin or barrel that is now empty to be as full of water as can be. If they try again tonight, we need to be prepared.”

  “Of course,” Aunt Garrity said. “I will also set up a distaff sleeping area in the older, central part of the house. That part of the house is stone, not wood, and there is safety in numbers.”

  “Excellent idea,” Roger commended, “can you create a men’s dormitory as well?”

  “Certainly. I will put Lady Dahlia, myself, and the maids in the chapel, and you, Lord Bochil and the serving men will fit well enough in the large dining room, I think.”

  “Good. Aunt Garrity, you seem to be a remarkably able adjutant; I’ll leave the domestic arrangements to you. Try to arrange sleeping shifts. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? We should be prepared.”

  Roger surveyed his troops, an odd array of elderly servants and the young staff he had brought from the estate, along with some children who lived in rooms with their parents. Peter, the butler, Jemmy the footman who had come with Lord Bochil, and some of the stable hands were present. “Lord Bochil, do you think that you and I can set up a command post?”

  “I can, sir,” Lord Bochil declared, “but you would do well to include my sister, and it would seem, Mrs. Garrity in the command rotation.”

  “Well enough, Lord Bochil, and point well taken. However, neither my aunt, Lady Dahlia or I have had any sleep this night. My hope is that you have managed to catch a little before the household was aroused. A tired defense force is one destined to fail.”

  “I concede the field, Duke,” Lord Bochil bowed. “If it pleases you, I will begin
, then, by assisting your aunt in getting the sleeping quarters arranged that the three of you might try to get some rest.”

  Organizing sleeping spaces for both gentry and staff proved to be something of a challenge. Aunt Garrity insisted that Dahlia required more privacy than could be afforded in an open room, and that the Duke and Lord Bochil should also be given differential treatment. Nothing would do but that they disassemble four large beds, setting up two in the chapel and two in the dining hall. The chapel proved to be the greater challenge because the pews, heavy wood-carved benches, had to be carefully set aside. The beds, once set up, were concealed by large screens that were found in the attic.

  The young cook took over filling water containers and helped to oversee setting up cots or preparing pallets for the staff.