The Duke's Bride: Regency Romance (Regency Brides Book 1)

by Joanne Wadsworth

  In other news, I have it on good authority that James Hargrove is smitten with Sophia, and with that being the case, please keep a close eye on Hargrove as he intends on joining the 18th Royal Hussars and shall be stationed with you. You must ensure he remains safe, with no damage coming to his person.

  Until your return, I give you my word again, as I did during my leave from you in Spain, that I shall make certain your loved ones don’t cause too much strife while you are away across the channel. There is only one war you need to fight, that of our plight against Napoleon, and not that of hearth and home as well.

  Please do return your ever-honorable self to London at your earliest convenience. I am beyond anxious for this blasted war to be done, and to hear of your adventurous travels while we’ve been apart.

  As always, should you have need of me for any reason, dratted injured leg and all, send word and I shall find a way to escape Gorman with my pistol and saber in hand.

  Your frustrated comrade and chum,

  PLB.

  With his missive penned, he dribbled hot wax and pressed his ring into the seal then handed the letter to his butler who’d moved soundlessly across the room to his desk to collect it. “Pass this to Watts and have him deliver it immediately to James Hargrove at Donnelly House with the implicit instructions that this letter is to be placed directly into Captain Harry Trentbury’s hands, upon his joining the 18th. Am I understood?”

  “Understood, Your Grace.” His butler clipped his heels together, although he remained standing in place and not moving a blasted inch.

  “What now?” With a long sigh, he leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “Say what you need to say, and make it quick.”

  “I’ve no doubt that your father, may his soul rest in peace, would be immensely proud of you. You’ve fought for the 18th Royal Hussars, did your duty to our king and country, but never would he wish for you to give up your life and remain in exile behind these walls. Lady Ellie was right to come here, to try and encourage your return to Society.”

  “No more, William.”

  “Did you wish to see the invitation to the Atkinson’s Ball?”

  He’d tear it up once he got his hands on it. “Which pile is it in?”

  “The one to your right.” Three piles sat to his right, all of them several inches high. He huffed a breath, while Gorman thumbed his chin. “Or perhaps it’s in one of the four piles to your left.”

  His dratted butler could clearly see he intended on disposing of the invitation as soon as he got his hands on it, so he snarled and gave Gorman yet another aggravated look, which his man completely ignored as he straightened the hem of his jacket.

  “Your Grace, have I ever mentioned that you share a great many likenesses with your father, not only from your height and build, but with your stubborn nature as well?”

  He should truly reprimand his man for speaking so rudely, only Gorman was right. He could be stubborn, well, beyond stubborn. “I barely remember him, my father that is.”

  “You should never have lost him as you did, or your dear mother, but I shall continue to carry out my duty to them both. Of keeping a close eye on you and ensuring you remain alive and well.”

  “You’ve never fallen short of carrying out that duty, even though there have been at least a thousand times when I’ve wished to throttle you for your overprotective nature.”

  “There are times when I fear I have in fact fallen short, but my last words to them were that I’d remain diligently at your side, no matter where that might be, and that is an oath I will hold firm to until the day I take my last breath.”

  “You’ve done a bang-up job of remaining at my side, William. Have no fear there.” Gorman had attended him each and every day during the seven long years he’d be in the hussars fighting for England. His butler had walked every mile he’d walked, had been close at hand during the fighting and then at his bedside throughout his long days of recovery from that final battle which had taken him down. His butler was far more than a dedicated member of his staff. He was family. Close family.

  Rising from his chair, he nodded at his man. “I need you to see to my instructions with that letter, then fetch my hat and greatcoat and have Rhodes bring the coach around. I intend on visiting my clubs and shall be out until quite late. White’s first, then Boodle’s.” He needed to uncover all he could on how Wellington progressed at the front line, particularly since that was where Hargrove was headed, and where Harry would remain until this war was done.

  “Oh my, right away, Your Grace.” Gorman’s eyes lit up, then he stumbled to the door, halted and cast him an anxious look over his shoulder. “Did I hear your request correctly? You wish to leave the house for White’s, then Boodle’s? I fear I may be hallucinating.”

  “Yes, you heard correctly, and try not to take your last breath while you carry out my orders. I still have a great need of you to remain close at hand.” This would be his first trip out his front door since his self-exile six months ago, and all because of his wee Ellie. She’d stirred his protective desires, just as she’d likely intended to.

  “I can’t believe you’ve actually decided to venture back out into your old stomping grounds.” A wide grin lit his butler’s face.

  “Only because it’s necessary. Don’t expect this to be a reoccurring trip.”

  It was a necessity tonight, which saw him attired with his hat atop his head and greatcoat fastened as he settled onto the padded seat of his coach a short time later. Across town, he rode, and as the sun set and the skies darkened to a starless midnight-black, a low layer of cloud concealing the moon, he finally arrived at White’s.

  He stepped down from his carriage and breathed deep. White’s possessed the Victorian version of a Palladian facade with French motifs, was constructed of stone with a slate roof and stood three stories high with a dormered attic atop. This establishment held a great many members of the peerage as patrons, and with his cane in hand and the cold of the night biting deep into his bad leg, he nodded at the doorman on duty and limped inside.

  Highly polished tables graced the main dining room, with gentlemen seated in their silk vests and tailed coats enjoying a drink and a meal. Wait staff moved about the room lit with gas lamps ensconced on the walls and corner stands. The best of British game was served within these walls and the hearty aroma of grouse, partridge, wild salmon, and smoked trout flavored the air, right along with the earthy notes of tobacco pluming from the men’s pipes.

  Across the far side of the dining area, the viscount Major Lord Bishophale wandered in from the billiards room with his brother, Captain Bradley Poole. The two men, comrades from his time on the front line, took a seat at a corner table. They would certainly know how all feared with Wellington.

  He weaved around the tables then clapped the major and his brother on the back as he came abreast of them between their seats. He’d fought at their sides for years, had forged a bond with them that would never be broken. Blood, sweat, and tears existed between them, through both good times and bad. “It’s good to see you two old chaps are home on leave.”

  “Ashten, by Jove, take a seat and join us for dinner.” Bishophale beamed. “It’s good to see you too.”

  “How long are you home for?”

  “We’ve already been here for three weeks, but shall remain for another two, although that all depends on how long it takes to gather together the men we need to replenish the hussars. If it takes less, we’ll be away earlier, if more, then we’ll bide our time. We’ve been at the War Office today, but had intended on paying a call to you at Blackgale House tomorrow. Word is though, that you’ve turned into a complete recluse these past six months after a botched involvement with a lady who eloped with a captain out to sea. My condolences on the lady’s passing.”

  “Word is correct, but I have learnt my lesson well, thus why I rarely get out and about.”

  Bishophale gestured to one of the wait staff, who promptly rushed across t
o the major. “My brother and I will both have the trout. Bring us a bottle of your finest white wine as well.” Bishophale glanced at him. “What about you, eh, Duke?”

  “The partridge,” he instructed the waiter as he handed the man his greatcoat and hat. He sat with his comrades and propped his cane against the side of the table where he could reach it with ease.

  The waiter returned, poured a splash into Bishophale’s glass and the major swirled the liquid then sipped. With a nod, he instructed, “Well done, a superb blend. Fill the glasses and set the bottle on the table.”

  The waiter filled their glasses and Ashten took a hearty gulp of his wine and leaned back in his chair, his gaze on the major. “I’ve caught word about your call-to-arms.”

  “Yes, we’ve a great need for more men, particularly considering Napoleon’s next move. Word is he’s about to wed Marie Louise of Austria, the nuptials taking place very soon.” The major stroked his moustache, his gaze intent and clear worry flickering within.

  “You mean the Emperor of Austria’s daughter?” Ashten leaned forward, his forearms braced on the table, his own worry rising.

  “Yes, Marie Louise, the emperor’s eldest daughter.”

  “Devil take it.” He slumped back, cast his gaze to Captain Bradley Poole, the man having spoken about this exact possibility several months ago, particularly once he’d learned Marie Louise now neared the age of eighteen. “All your predictions thus far have come true.”

  “Yes, unfortunately they have.” Poole thrust a hand through his short blond hair, but didn’t rumple his locks one bit. His cravat was knotted to perfection, the man a handsome rake who had a way with the ladies. He was a golden child, one the sun always seemed to shine upon. “If this union goes ahead, Ashten, then Napoleon will be marrying a member from one of Europe’s leading royal houses.”

  “Is there a way we can halt that from happening?” Allowing Napoleon the chance to cement his relatively young French Empire wasn’t permissible. Ashten tapped the tabletop as the waiter returned with their meals and set the plates down. Steam swirled from his partridge and stack of roasted potatoes and carrots.

  “I’m afraid not,” Poole continued once the waiter had left. “Not when we suspect Marie Louise has been ordered to agree to the marriage by her father.”

  “Austria has endured a series of military defeats at the hands of Napoleon and they’ve suffered a heavy loss of their soldiers’ lives.” Ashten cut into his partridge.

  “True, which is why Francis the Second would have agreed to this marriage of alliance. With Napoleon about to speak vows with Marie Louise, the Corsican will surely enjoy a period of peace to come, or at least peace with Austria.” Poole cut into his smoked trout.

  “I agree, brother.” A firm nod from Bishophale. “Although never will Napoleon be permitted to obtain peace with our great nation.”

  “We’re a threat to Napoleon and his way of life. He’ll never side with us, and we’ll never side with him.” Ashten swigged a mouthful of wine. “I also believe that Napoleon won’t be happy until he holds power over all of Europe. France is just the beginning for him. Certainly, the revolution played right into his greedy hands.”

  “His greediness will one day be his downfall, and what a mighty fall it will be, a drop into the depths of hell, I imagine.” Bishophale lifted his glass and in complete accord, Ashten and Poole tapped their glasses against his. No love was lost between them and their enemy, and never would be.

  Setting his glass down, Ashten pressed his back into the firm support of his chair. “Russia is already becoming ruined with their defeat to Napoleon, their economy faltering due to their inability to trade with us. Has there been any change on Wellington’s front?”

  “No, but Wellington does hold onto the hope that the Emperor Alexander the First won’t stand aside and allow his country of Russia to remain in chaos for long. The moment Alexander chooses to change his country’s foreign policy and join with us again, then such a decision will stir Wellington into action. We will halt Napoleon in his endeavor to take over all of Europe, and we will do it by joining forces with Russia once more.”

  “Napoleon is intoxicated by his power. We must break it.”

  “We shall, Ashten. Have no fear there.” Bishophale pulled his pipe from his pocket. “Napoleon believes he has the emperors of Austria and Russia under his control, and as we have all learnt in times of war, that kind of control isn’t possible. Napoleon has only gained his rise by destroying Austria and Russia and demanding the emperors of those two countries toe the line.”

  “Napoleon needs to be stripped of his power.” Solemn words from Poole.

  “And exiled to a rock somewhere in the middle of the ocean.” Bishophale clasped his brother’s shoulder and cast his gaze once more to Ashten. “I long to see that happen.”

  “Hear, hear,” both Ashten and Poole chanted.

  “Perhaps we should lighten our mood with a glass of good port. What say you both?” Bishophale lifted a hand and hailed the waiter.

  “I say apple tart goes well with port.” Ashten grinned at his comrades. One day they would defeat Napoleon, and that day would be hugely celebrated when it came. It was only a matter of time.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Ellie muttered and paced her bedchamber in her white linen nightgown. She’d returned from Blackgale House yesterday and spoken immediately with Sophia, who’d not long returned home herself from a carriage ride with Hargrove. James had imparted his news with her sister during their outing, that he’d be joining the 18th Royal Hussars, and Sophia had been both devastated and immensely proud of him. With her sister’s acceptance of what was to be, Ellie had had no choice but to offer her own heartfelt acceptance as well. What a horrendous war though. Thousands upon thousands of good men had perished, innocent women and children too.

  “Good morning, Lady Ellie.” Penny, her maid, peeked around her chamber door. “Do you wish for aid in dressing?”

  “Yes, come in.” She shook her head of her dreadful thoughts. A new day had dawned, one she intended on embracing. Harry would expect naught less from her, and she expected the same from herself too.

  In her aproned skirts, Penny bustled inside and swished open the heavy lilac drapes either side of her window overlooking the rear gardens. Dark gray clouds covered the sky, the promise of rain high. A dismal day for certain, not that she’d ever allowed London’s harsh weather to keep her indoors, or from her duties which she needed to carry out, the most important still being the Duke of Ashten and her quest of aiding him.

  Lifting her chin, she set her firm resolve in place. “Perhaps I’ll wear something bright and cheerful today, a snub if you will at the weather.”

  “What a wonderful idea.” Smiling, Penny poked her head inside her closet and thumbed through the gowns, before plucking one from the rail. “Might I recommend this sunshine-yellow day dress?”

  “You might, and it’s a wonderful recommendation. I also need you to lay out the empire evening gown which arrived from the dressmaker’s yesterday for this evening’s soiree at the Atkinson’s home. I’ll wear it with the matching burgundy slippers that came with it.”

  “I’ll ensure your gown is steamed before I lay it out, my lady.” Penny dressed her with swift efficiency and once Ellie was clothed and her leather soled slippers on, she sat in the chair before her dressing table while Penny brushed her hair and arranged her locks high on her head.

  From the fanciful top knot, a fall of golden curls lay loose in places and bobbed about her shoulders. A little beeswax smeared across her lips, her cheeks rouged, and she was ready to take on this new day.

  Downstairs, she trod and found Mama in the drawing room seated on the blue brocade settee, a lacy cap atop her golden hair wisped with streaks of silver, her beloved embroidery in hand. She brushed a kiss across Mama’s head and settled herself in the elegant padded chair across from her. She’d always adored sitting and watching Mama stitch with such an artful
hand. Mama looped the wine-colored thread through the cotton and completed the stitching of a vibrant burgundy rose within a thick bush of greenery, the rose bush identical to Mama’s favorite one in her rose garden outside. “Is that piece you’re stitching depicting the rose bush Papa gave you?”

  “Yes.” A soft smile lifted Mama’s lips. “Your dear papa planted it himself, the very week you were born. He was eager for me to come outside and see it, so I bundled you in blankets and snuck outside with you. It was a dreary winter day, thick with fog and misty rain, and the thorny rose bush he planted was bare, but the coming spring it was awash with flowers.” Mama continued stitching. “Speaking of that day. It was four and twenty years ago now.”

  “Yes, isn’t that interesting.” She barely suppressed her smile. Mama could be quite meddlesome when she wished, a trait she’d certainly picked up from her, and one she’d never complain about.

  “Two children I had by your age as well.”

  “That is even more interesting.” She wanted to giggle, gave a snort instead as she stamped it down.

  “If you wished to accept one of the many proposals you keep receiving, you too could be wed and admiring your own rose bushes within your own rose gardens, mayhap with a child or two in your arms.” Another stitch, one teasing brow raised. “Perhaps you might consider saying yes instead of no to your next suitor. Five there have been so far this Season, so let’s not send a sixth skittering away, shall we?”

  “Mama, you are so good at keeping count. I wasn’t aware there’d been five already.” She folded her hands in her lap, as primly as she could.

  “Dearest, I have five children and not one of them has given me a grandchild yet, so you can be assured I’ll continue keeping count until one of you do.” Mama would too. She never handed out her threats lightly.