Oliver nodded. “Certainly. I will answer honestly and truthfully.”
“I thought you would. Now tell me plainly, was it your intention to put the Earl into the perilous position where he would have no choice but to offer you a king’s ransom in return for his life?”
Oliver laughed out loud which surprised the Duke.
“Your Grace, I enjoy the game of chess as much as any man but I had no intention of playing the Earl for a pawn in some grand game of strategy!”
“You did not intend to hold a blade to his throat to persuade him to part with his purse?”
“Heavens and by my faith, no, your Grace. That was never my intention. I wanted to teach the pup a lesson for treating Lady Georgiana so poorly. I admit that his comments angered me and his greed appalled me.”
The Duke nodded his agreement to that sentiment.
Oliver continued, “But it was only when he was begging upon your floor that the idea came to me that he might be of better service to my needs as a willing donor of gold coin than as a fashionably dressed corpse!”
The Duke laughed.
“By all that’s holy, Dartworth, the look on the wretch’s face was surely beyond price. Egad, but if you hadn’t called him out for a duel, I would’ve whipped him myself with the stoutest birch rod in the county.”
“It seems appropriate to me that my father’s fortune, which was squandered on gambling amongst the gentry, has now been restored as the result of the bringing to justice of just the sort of greedy and unthinking young nobleman who once drove my father to ruin.”
The Duke laughed.
“Just so, Dartworth. Just so. We can announce to the world that what was lost through folly has been restored through prudence. Did your father really lose so much as the amount you have extracted from the fool?”
“Not quite so much, Your Grace, but the debts are but the start of it. He left the entailed properties in appalling condition, due to long term lack of maintenance. My estate needs repairs and investment and I decided to add a goodly interest to the sum to make up for my lean and hard years of toil.”
“It might not have been fitting labour for a gentleman, Dartworth, but it has not diminished you one bit. You are a true gentleman through and through. I must offer you my sincere apology for every doubting you.”
The Duke leaned forward and offered his hand to the Oliver.
“You will stay for the wedding? It is set to be but a week from now, and I would be honoured if I may provide you with more fitting attire to attend the occasion, for you will have little chance to arrange new things of your own in time. You are a Marquess, my Lord, and I would have you dressed and attired as such.”
Oliver smiled and showed his even white teeth, more pleased than he could possibly say to accept the Duke’s generous hospitality.
Within a short hour, the entire household had learned that Lady Georgiana’s engagement to the young Earl had been cancelled. There were few explanations given, but the Duke had taken great care to explain as much as he could to Georgiana, his future wife seated by his side, and a carafe of the finest madeira to fortify their spirits and soften the shock of the dramatic events.
Georgiana felt as if a stone had finally been lifted from her heart. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, she could not stop smiling at the Duke’s words. In her minds eye, she saw Oliver, as he had looked when the Duke had ordered him from the house, those few short days ago. In that moment, she wanted, desperately, to see him, to make certain that the sadness was gone from his eyes, and to apologise to him for ever having believed him anything but honourable.
With a start, she realised that she had been woolgathering, and that the Duke was still speaking. When she brought her attention back to his words, her smile grew even larger, on the instant.
“You shall be entirely free henceforth to choose a husband of your own pleasing, my girl. That might mean you will be my guest here for longer than either of us originally planned. The house is yours for as long as you wish and you are free to take your pick of any of the horses in the stables and go riding whenever the fancy takes you. And to amuse yourself with the puppies – although I’d prefer you didn’t bring them to the house! You see, your sister has told me more about you than you might’ve expected!”
Georgiana accepted the Duke’s kiss upon her hand as he stood to leave the room. He turned to face the two Ladies.
“Now, if the rumours can be believed, we have a wedding to attend here in a very short time so let us put all our hearts into the joyous occasion and put the past firmly behind us, where it belongs.”
Georgiana raised her exquisitely carved glass of madeira in a toast.
“To your happiness, my darling sister, for there is truly no one in the world who deserves it more than you.”
They smiled at each other as their glasses chimed together and the lead crystal rang out clearly like a small, perfect bell in the confines of the study.
~~~~~
Later that day, Baron Setford managed to catch the Duke alone, for a private word. After his observations of the last few days, an idea had started to form and this time he wanted the Duke’s opinion.
“Rotherhithe, we’ve been friends for many years now. You are, perhaps, more aware of what I do than most men. What you may never have considered is how wide is the scope of my remit, in the work that I carry out for the crown.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever thought too deeply on it. After all, for most of the years you’ve done that work, the main focus has been France, the war on their soil, and the risk of their action and infiltration here. It seems so obvious that it’s only now, when you mention it, that I have realised that, perhaps you look further than that.”
“And glad I am that most have never considered what I do, or how far it reaches. In this case though, I feel it appropriate to inform you a little further. In strictest confidence, of course.”
“Of course.”
“My remit stretches to all areas of the world where there is an English presence, or a diplomatic… challenge… for us. Including the Americas. I also prefer, when I can, to have a direct hand in recruiting those who work for me, in whatever guise. I am certain that you have realised that young Otford is one of those. He, and his close friends, were some of our most effective men in France. I value his opinion.”
The Duke nodded again, wondering where this was going.
“And both he and I have come to the conclusion that young Dartworth’s connections in America, and his knowledge of the political workings of the place, could be of great value to the crown. I’ve a mind to offer him an opportunity. Do you think he would consider it? For, whilst the ton have labelled him a revolutionary, my sense of it is that, at the heart of it, he’s loyal.”
Rotherhithe sat a moment, considering Setford’s words, before he spoke again.
“I believe that I agree with you. He has some rather challenging opinions, but they are not, by any means, rash or unconsidered. He is not the sort of revolutionary that wants to destroy the aristocracy, or our way of life. Rather, from what I see, he would seek to make quiet changes that benefit everyone, where he can. He certainly acknowledges his responsibility for his tenants and his estates. Yet he undoubtedly has conceived some sympathy for the American people. Perhaps, I could dare to surmise, he understands them better than most in England might. What would you offer him?”
“The peace with the Americans is still fragile, and the risk of military action resulting from some minor stupidity along the current border between British North America and the United States is high. Both the Prince Regent and the Parliament would prefer that not happen. Perhaps a new treaty may be possible, to resolve such questions in a better manner. But… I would be much more comfortable if our negotiators were extremely well informed, should such negotiations come to pass. And that requires the kind of intelligence that can only be gathered by someone there, who already has contacts, and knows his way around. If Dartworth would consider
a journey to the Americas, in the near future, I feel that it could be most beneficial. I am, however, aware that I will need to provide good and convincing reason for his travel, as well as the best of support for the management of his properties here, in his absence.”
The Duke nodded, his face serious, considering all of the implications of Setford’s words.
“I think that he might well accept such a mission. It seems to me that facilitating a treaty between his home country, and the country whose people he respects for their achievements, would suit his attitudes well. But… give him some time before you ask. Let’s see how he settles. He seemed to get on well with Otford, so let us encourage that friendship – Otford is astute enough to discover, for you, how Dartworth might really feel about such a request from you.”
“True, a good way forward I think, Rotherhithe. And now I will leave you in peace, after the dramas of the day, to contemplate the much more pleasant prospect of your impending wedding.”
The following week was a whirlwind of activity as the household prepared for the Duke’s wedding. Linen for the banqueting tables was carefully unfolded and perfectly ironed, silver cutlery was polished until it shone brightly, cases of fine wine were unpacked and the corks checked for a perfect seal. Boxes of snuff from faraway Turkey were gently opened and twists of Virginia tobacco were finely hand-shredded for smoking.
Lead crystal decanters were cleaned and set ready to receive Cognac that had been aged in oak casks for twenty years and fresh candles were trimmed and placed in the scores of candelabra and chandeliers for which the great house was justly famous.
The kitchens prepared for the effort of boiling up and crystallising a massive quantity of sugar to make exquisite decorations to adorn the tables. It was to be an event that would be talked of for years to come.
Everyone pretended not to notice the Earl of Bentwick’s sudden absence, and, whilst the rules of polite society deterred the guests from discussing the Earl’s affairs, at least in public, much gossip was whispered in quiet corners, as they all speculated on the events which had led to his sudden departure. Rumours, of course, abounded. Servants whispered to chambermaids and footmen exchanged comments behind gloved hands and, before long, the personal maids were sharing the gossip with their mistresses.
Whilst the Earl’s humiliation had been private, when he had begged for his life rather than face a duel over a Lady’s honour, rumour speculated on what had actually happened. The common thread was that the man was, in some way, an utter scoundrel and a rogue! Given the intensity of the gossip, the Duke thought it likely that, unless he was able to convince those with influence to overlook his indiscretions, he would soon find the doors of the ton’s great houses firmly barred against him. Invitations to glittering social events would no longer be extended. The Earl would sink into the kind of social obscurity that felt more like a slow and lingering death and, ostracised by his fellow peers, he would likely turn to his cellars to find solace and comfort, a drunken sot without a friend to call upon. The Duke could not find it in himself to feel sorry for the man.
To the guests who had assembled in all of their finery to celebrate the Duke’s wedding, the Earl had ceased to be important, except as the occasional subject of titillating gossip. The Duke’s wedding was of far more interest. Although, there was still some quiet speculation as to which gentleman might now hope to win Lady Georgiana’s hand.
Those who had sulked and retreated into cards and drinking, when her betrothal had been announced, now put effort into charming her, hoping that they might step into the place that the Earl had vacated.
Oliver had retained his rooms at the local tavern. The Duke had been more than happy to extend the hospitality of his house to the Marquess, but Oliver quickly realised that his rooms at the Bell and Whistle Inn were undoubtedly larger and more accommodating than the ones that were available at Canterwood Park. With so many other guests already in residence, the Duke could only offer the lesser bedchambers to any late invitations and Oliver had politely declined the offer of occupying what was little more than a garret in the building’s attics.
His only regret in staying at the Inn was that it gave him less opportunity to see Lady Georgiana. Shortly before he had left the house again, in a much better frame of mind than the last time that he had passed out that door, he had seen Georgiana in the hallway, as she came from the Duke’s study with her sister. He had smiled hesitantly, going forward to bow over her hand, and been utterly delighted when her face had lit with a brilliant smile.
Perhaps there was hope for him yet – for now, with his fortunes, if not completely restored, at least in a decent, and soon to be debt free, state, he might reasonably approach her as a suitor.
The Duke had been as good as his word and had sent Oliver a wardrobe of fine clothing to befit his station as the Marquess of Dartworth.
It was fortunate, indeed, that the Duke was almost of a size with Oliver, although some of the clothing he had, regretfully, been unable to accept, as it was simply unable to accommodate his breadth of shoulder. Oliver reasoned that almost anything would have been an improvement on his old clothes and was delighted to be able to dress as befit a gentleman. He cared little for fashion but, amongst the ton, clothes were, too often, the way a man was valued.
Oliver found himself laughing. If anything, the clothing was probably a little too fine for his more modest tastes. These were the silver-buttoned coats, the finely-embroidered shirts, and the silken breeches of a Duke, after all. He had spent so long toiling for his living in the former colonies that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to dress in such expensive finery.
Furthermore, he had absolutely no idea what such clothing cost – it was so long since he had been able to consider the extravagance of a good tailor. Oliver was, however, quite certain that the value of the clothing gifted to him was enormous, and he deduced that the Duke was endeavouring to make amends for his poor judgement. He appreciated the gesture and determined to offer his thanks and his respects at the earliest opportunity.
Each day, he dressed in his new finery with care, and took himself to Canterwood Park. Whilst the gathered cream of high society still eyed him somewhat askance, the Duke’s changed attitude to him had caused a softening in their manner. They were, he understood, also absolutely curious about what had brought about his obvious change in fortunes.
The days were, in contrast to his previous time in the house, a delight. He walked in the gardens with Lady Georgiana, Miss Millpost following at a discreet distance. They talked of everything and nothing. He shared his plans for the renovation of Dartworth Abbey, and the transformation of his tenant farmers lives and productivity. Georgiana was filled with enthusiasm and ideas, providing excellent advice. He was again, astounded by her sharp intelligence and her care for the land. In her presence, he quite forgot everything, and everyone else.
Yet he had not dared to raise the question of her future. For now, just the chance to be with her would have to be enough.
When he was not spending time with Lady Georgiana, he found himself often in the company of Baron Tillingford. Gerald had quickly told him to dispense with formality, and they also spoke of land and property, and the challenge of dealing with the ton.
There was something about Gerald that reminded him of himself. A sense of sadness, a sense of feeling out of place. He did not ask, but he was sure that there were things in Gerald’s past that the man regretted. Regardless of that, Oliver quickly decided that this was a man he wanted as a friend, for he had not been, even at first meeting, judgemental – he had accepted Oliver for himself, and that was something to be treasured.
Increasingly, also, he found himself in conversation with Baron Setford. A disconcerting man, with those piercing grey eyes, and the ability to almost disappear from notice, even in a crowded room. But a man, he discovered, with a sharp sense of humour, and an equally sharp sense of loyalty and honour.
A man, it seemed, who was dangerous to cross,
but who had decided, for his own reasons, to be Oliver’s friend. He was grateful, but wondered what the Baron saw in him.
~~~~~
“… but the entire roof will need repair before the place is reasonably habitable. I have no idea at all how my father managed to live there, in the end.”
Georgiana watched the animation in Oliver’s face as he spoke. His eyes were bright, and his unruly dark curls shone in the sun. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch him. Even while her mind was engaged in the enthusiastic discussion of his plans for restoring his estates, her body seemed to be drawn towards him, all of its own.
“Will you restore it all? Surely that will be a great expense?”
“I will, for it is my heritage. It’s an entailed property, so really, I have no choice but maintain it. It would be most uncouth of me to let it rot, when I shall be forced to pass it on to my son. Should I have a son, of course.”
Georgiana thought that Oliver actually blushed as he said those words, but he quickly turned away, to stare out across the beautiful grounds of Canterwood Park, as he continued speaking.
“And I want to. I want to see it returned to the beautiful place it was, when I was a small child. I want to see my tenants happy, their cottages in good repair, the lands productive. I want them to be happy to see me – as they certainly never were to see my father. Is that selfish of me?”
“No, oh no, never selfish, for to achieve what you wish, you will improve the lives of many others. Not just your tenants, but all those who you employ to do the repairs, and all those that they support, or spend their money with. That is far more generous than most titled men ever are in their thinking.”
They walked on, coming to a little stone folly that sat amongst a cluster of trees, with a view to the hills. Georgiana dropped onto the seat, impulsively reaching out to pull Oliver down beside her.
He sat. She did not release his hand. She did not, in that moment, care in the slightest if she was being terribly forward, or totally inappropriate. His fingers felt good in hers. His hand was strong, warm, calloused from his years of honest work, and gentle, as his fingers curled to press against hers.
Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6) Page 12