A Damsel for the Daring Duke

by Bridget Barton

  “Lady Penelope,” James said flatly.

  “You are still keen on the young lady, are you not?” The Duke raised his eyebrows significantly. “Unless you have changed your mind and decided you prefer Lady Felicia after all.”

  “No, no, not at all,” James said, wishing that he had never met either woman in his life.

  “And then we are at a garden party with Lord Harker the following day. I must admit, I am not particularly fond of Harker, but Lord Paynton and Penelope will be there once again, so I think it is a very good opportunity. I have already accepted the invitation on your behalf, James.” The Duke smiled, and James returned it, despite every instinct telling him to fight back.

  But things had changed, and it was no longer a simple case of talking to his father with the humorously sarcastic confidence of the past. There was more to think about now, a longer game to play.

  If he argued now, he risked exposing himself, exposing the life he was trying to protect in the east of the county. Even though they had kissed, he knew that he could not simply propose immediately. Charlotte was attracted to him now, of that there was no doubt, but that did not mean that she was yet in love with him as he was in love with her.

  It all seemed too sensitive at the moment, still too new and untested for him to blunder in and ask for her hand. He just could not risk turning her away from him, not at this stage.

  But he had not seen her since the night they had kissed, and his mind had been full of her, more so than ever. He had been looking forward to the next few days heartily, counting the hours until he could be away from Sandford and back over at Hanover Hall, eagerly awaiting his next audience with the most beautiful woman in the world.

  It seemed to James as if he was walking on the edge of the knife currently, not wanting to tread too heavily in one direction or another for fear of cutting himself, slicing right through all his hopes.

  He knew that he would have to accede to his father’s request this time, however much it pained him. He would have to play this game a little longer or risk losing the only person he could not bear to lose.

  James finished his tea in as calm and friendly manner as he could manage. He did not want his father to see his disappointment, to suspect him of something. And he did not want him to see through to his true feelings for Lady Penelope Colchester, or lack thereof.

  No, he would simply have to write another very disappointing letter to Charlotte and hope that she would be as forgiving and understanding on this occasion as she had been on the last.

  When he finally managed to excuse himself from his father’s company, James felt a sweeping sense of relief. By the time he reached his own chamber, he was able to rant and rail to himself, to let out all that he had held deep inside in the Duke’s presence. He was able to be himself again.

  Once his angry protestations were over, he made his way immediately to his writing bureau, snatched up his pen, and dipped it into the ink.

  “My Dear Charlotte,

  It is with the deepest regret that I, once again, cannot make my way to Hanover Hall. My father has, as he did before, arranged a number of engagements at which my own presence is required and has, once again, neglected to give me a great deal of notice of the fact.

  Please believe me when I tell you that I would truly much rather be over in the east, hovering about Thurlow Manor as I wait for a moment alone with you. But alas I cannot, and I am afraid that I shall have to forego the obvious pleasure that your company always brings me.

  I hope you will not be too disappointed by my absence, although I am bound to say that I should feel pleased if I thought that you missed me.

  I know that I shall miss you, especially after Lord Morley’s ball. What a wonderful night that was, my dear Charlotte, and I am bound to say that it has played upon my mind ever since.

  But still, I shall not commit too much to paper, and simply say that I shall write to you very soon with the details of my next visit to the east. And I am bound to tell you that, next time, wild horses will not keep me away.

  Until I set eyes on you again, be assured that you will be constantly in my thoughts.

  With fondest regards,

  James.”

  For all the world, James had wanted to end his letter with all my love but knew that he must restrain himself a little, not get ahead of himself in any way. After all, it was enough that he had alluded to the kiss without foolishly declaring his love for her on paper.

  When the time was right, he would do it in person. He would take that beautiful woman into his arms, tell her how he had fallen so deeply in love with her, and ask her to marry him.

  He could only hope that day would come sooner rather than later, for he did not know how much longer he could keep his father and the endless stream of entirely uninteresting young women at bay.

  Sooner or later, there would have to be a reckoning. The Duke of Sandford was not going to get his way and, furthermore, he was not going to like it.

  James folded the letter and sealed it, sighing deeply as he realized it would be some weeks before he would see Charlotte again. He had missed her enough already and had been wondering how he would even make it through the next few days as it was. To have that time extended seemed somehow cruel and perverse to him. He wanted to be with her, to talk with her and spar with her in that way that was drawing him ever closer to her each time they met.

  And he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss those soft, warm lips once again. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, remembering with absolute clarity the very moment he had first touched the soft skin of her upper arms.

  He had never felt skin so smooth in his life, and it had taken every drop of will he had not to pull her tight to him, not to feel her body against his own.

  In the end, however, the two kisses they had shared had been enough to pacify his longing. He had felt so close to her at that moment, and the idea that she was coming to feel something of the same for him had kept him alive with excitement ever since.

  Well, he knew that Charlotte Cunningham was worth every sacrifice he would have to make, even if, on this occasion, that sacrifice would be the lack of her company.

  He just had to hold on, to have patience, and find the right time to propose to her.

  Chapter 14

  Charles Holt could tell by the Duke’s tone of voice that he was about to be sent back over to the east of the county. He relished the thought of continuing what he had begun, anything to make James Harrington’s defeat solid and undeniable.

  The Duke had been extraordinarily pleased with Charles for discovering the identity of the lady in question so quickly.

  It had taken no more than a little observation in the area of Thurlow Manor to discover that the Honourable Miss Charlotte Cunningham was, indeed, the mystery woman who had been kissed by the Duke’s son on the terrace in the moonlight.

  Charles knew that he would earn very well that month, for the Duke of Sandford always knew which services were best paid for. And when he had decided to send the attorney back to make further enquiries, Charles could not have been better pleased if he tried.

  “Yes, I am afraid I am going to need you to return, Holt. As I said to you before, now that we have the identity of the young lady, I think there is more work to be done. Now that I know there is nothing like the fortune I would expect in terms of a dowry, the union is, of course, impossible. Not only impossible but reprehensible.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” he said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back in front of his master’s desk once again.

  “On this occasion, you will not need to follow my son. As a matter of fact, I have thwarted his little attempts to get over to Hanover Hall this time, and so you do not have the risk of discovery in that quarter.” The Duke laughed mercilessly. “That boy really does think he has the best of me, but he does not. I could see through his ridiculous attempt to cover his disappointment. He has no art for this sort of dece
ption at all, Holt,” the Duke went on as if he were talking to a friend, confiding almost.

  Charles rather liked those times, those brief moments where he felt as if he were his master’s equal. Still, he knew better than to agree with him, and on this occasion, Charles remained respectfully silent.

  “I do not wish you to follow the young lady either unless you suddenly see a reason for it. No, what I want you to do this time is very different.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Charles could already feel a little excitement beginning to build.

  As he stood with his head tipped reverentially to one side, Charles felt a flash of pride when he realized that it was his efforts and his efforts alone which had brought all of this about.

  Had it not been for him, the Duke would have nothing but his suspicions. But now he had proof, and he was trusting his attorney to delve deeper.

  “The problem is, you will have to work quickly. From what you say, it appears the two are very close already, and I do not want to find myself in the position of having the young lady presented to me as my son’s fiancée. That would be very awkward, very awkward indeed.” He shook his head and winced as he thought of it. “So, what I need from you is very simple, though I daresay it will not be simply achieved. I need some leverage over my son; I need to be certain that I hold all the cards in this little game that he and I are playing.”

  “Quite so, Your Grace.”

  “I need you to make some enquiries, to find out if there is anything about the young lady that I can hold against her. More importantly, I want something that will turn my son away from her or otherwise make it impossible for the two of them to marry. In truth, I do not care what it is; any little scandal will do. Just find out the very worst you can, Holt. At the end of the day, we all have secrets, every single one of us.”

  As the Duke finished speaking, Charles absently wondered if he himself had any secrets. He did not think he did, although he was sure there would be certain aspects of his personality that he would not like to become common knowledge.

  “Take as long as you need, my dear fellow.” The Duke had become conversational again, almost amiable. “And you would probably do well to employ the same driver that you used last time. From what you say, he appears to have come in rather useful. Discretion is worth every penny you pay him, so pay him well.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. The man is rather bright for one of his class,” Charles said, pleased for the opportunity to elevate himself above somebody, even if the poor man was not in the room.

  “Well, if your work looks set to keep you away in the east for any length of time, you must write to me every few days with your progress. Other than that, I shall expect your report when you return.”

  “Very well, Your Grace,” Charles said and bowed deeply, recognizing the dismissal as always.

  It was a simple thing for Charles to employ the same driver again, the man clearly remembering how well he was paid last time.

  What Charles found most comforting was the fact that the driver never asked a single question. Even with the lower classes, when there was some intrigue afoot, they could not help enquiring as a rule.

  But not this man, he simply drove the carriage, spoke when he was spoken to, and kept Charles Holt’s business to himself. Not to mention the fact that he could be tasked with finding out a little information here and there along the way.

  After all, he really had proved very useful the last time when he had managed to wrest information from an old drunk in the village hostelry.

  Charles found he quite enjoyed the journey across from west to east, feeling himself a little freer than he ordinarily did. He was very pleased with himself, of course, that he had managed to work for the Duchy of Sandford for so many years, enjoying such elevated status in the county.

  But there was something about this situation that was very different. For once, Charles was in charge; Charles was the master.

  It was different from being at home and ordering his housekeeper around. No end of men of his station had a housekeeper; there was nothing so very grand in that. Of course, many men of his station had drivers, but this was different. Charles truly felt like the master this time, the master in every sense.

  Perhaps it was because he was not acting on the Duke’s instructions precisely, but rather that he had been given free rein to have the details be whatever he chose them to be.

  Whatever it was, Charles was enjoying it.

  When they arrived in the area between Hanover Hall and Thurlow Manor, a few general enquiries led them to a coaching inn on the edge of a large village called Belton. The inn was very well appointed given its location, and Charles was pleased with the rooms he had taken for himself.

  Charles allowed himself a day to settle in, eating well and relaxing. It was not until he reached the start of the second day that he wondered quite where he was going to begin.

  He had thought at first that he would ingratiate himself to another attorney in the area, one professional man to another, but that had been his own arrogance rising to the fore, assuming that he would easily work his way into things in such a manner.

  But now that he had slept on it, had overcome his excitement and feelings of superiority, the cold light of day was beginning to peek through the dark shutters of his mind.

  Although Belton was a much bigger village than the last one, a place where he had already spotted a number of professional establishments, surely he would still stand out.

  A professional man of sense would not simply part with information, what on earth that he been thinking? Even Charles, a man of dubious character, would not have treated a stranger making enquiries with such alacrity.

  He would not invite him in and tell him everything, at least not until he had fully ascertained what gain there could be for him in all of it.

  No, he thought he would very likely have to find some other method, perhaps even go back to the hostelry in the other little village.

  Charles’ nerves began to desert him as he wondered exactly how much information the drunkard would be able to give them. He would hardly be privy to the inner workings of Thurlow Manor, much less the private information of Miss Charlotte Cunningham.

  In the end, it was his driver who, once again, managed to save the day. Not, of course, that the driver would be getting credit at all in any message Charles sent back to the Duke.

  Whilst Charles had been wallowing in his own fears in his well-appointed rooms in the coaching inn, his driver, whose room was a very far cry from that of his temporary master, had been spending time talking to people at the inn.

  He particularly singled out locals, people who lived in the area and regularly drank in that establishment rather than travellers on their way to somewhere else, simply passing through.

  On the day that Charles had spent relaxing, the driver had discovered that Lord Cunningham’s own driver, a man who had served him for many years, was also a man who occasionally found himself in the grip of liquor.

  “It was the landlord of the inn who told me, Sir,” the driver said, trying to disguise the pride in his own cleverness, although not very well. “He was having a quiet day, so I bought a few drinks, and he was happy to talk. Anyway, we got to talking about the more notable people in the area, and it would seem that the Baron is one of them.”

  “I do hope you did not make yourself too obvious,” Charles snapped, pleased that some progress had been made but unreasonably displeased that it had not been Charles himself who had made it.

  “Oh no, Sir, I was very careful about that. I just laughed and said that the Baron ought to get rid of a man if he was a drunk, that there were plenty of other drivers out there like me who know when to stop.”

  “I see,” Charles said and realized he was being petty. “Very good, very good indeed. Go on.”

  “Anyway, it seems that the Baron has something of a soft heart, Sir, and the driver has worked with him for years. He keeps the man on even though he knows it would be be
tter to dismiss him.”

  “And so, are we to expect this driver from Thurlow Manor to come into this coaching inn any time in the near future?”

  “That is what I have come to tell you, Sir. He has already been in. Last night, in fact, but it was too late for me to come and knock at your door for I did not wish to wake you.”

  “Good heavens, then you have spoken to this driver? Have you found something out? Come along, tell me at once,” Charles said, suddenly excited again and extremely relieved.

  He could not escape the feeling that his driver had rescued him from certain humiliation, and his old confidence began to return.

  “I don’t know how it helps, Sir, or if it helps at all, but the Baron’s driver was quite a talker, especially once the drink was in. Anyway, the worse he got, the more he began to talk about a young woman who works on the Thurlow estate. A maid, or a lady’s maid, by the name of Ruth Clarkin.”