My Dearest Friend (Books We Love Regency Romance)

by Hazel Statham

  “But of course, your grace,” Mrs. James replied, bobbing a slight curtsey. “The rooms have been aired and dusted but nothing has been altered. You will find no change there, I do assure you.” She noted the pallor of the duke’s countenance, and her heart went out to him, knowing she could do nothing to help him. What could anyone do in the face of such unrelenting grief? “Perhaps your grace would like a glass of wine or claret? The day is chill and you have had a long journey.”

  “A glass of brandy would serve better. The hour is late and once I have had some refreshment I will retire.” The duke turned his gaze toward the fire, an indication that the interview was at an end.

  “As your grace wishes,” Mrs. James said, again dropping a slight curtsey, and retreating to the nether regions to supervise the preparation of supper. She sent a footman to the cellar to procure the brandy and ordered it to be presented for the duke’s approval. However, later that evening, she confided to the cook that she had never seen the master look so drawn; adding that although she had served him supper, as he had instructed, he had hardly touched the meal.

  ***

  The rivulets of rain cascaded down the casement in Stefan’s bedroom and the duke, watching their progress, felt that they singularly suited his mood. He had refused breakfast. Immediately on rising, he had sought the portals of Stefan’s apartment thinking that here at last he might find some peace, but this was not to be. Instead, the torments began anew, and as he sat in the window seat watching the rain and the distant waves beating against the shore his thoughts gave him no respite from his tortured mind. The fact that, had he not purchased the commission, Stefan would have undoubtedly joined the ranks, did naught to reconcile him to the situation.

  When the news of Stefan’s fate had first reached him he had been devastated and had attempted by various means to find the details of his death. However, nothing could prepare him for the torment he would fall victim to upon receiving the report from his brother’s aide and, even now, his grieving conscience would allow him no reprieve.

  He had read and re-read the scrawled lines that he had found amongst Stefan’s belongings, which had been returned during his absence, and they tore at his heart.

  Death is swift, sweet and kind,

  A comfort to my fevered mind,

  That I might find solace in its depths,

  For all eternity.

  He rose impatiently to pace between hearth and window until, becoming fretful of the confines of the room, he flung open the door. Entering the hall, despite the tempest of the day, he called for his horse to be brought from the stables. Perhaps a ride along the cliffs would alleviate his mood, finding in activity some sort of release from the agony that threatened to engulf him. Perhaps it had not been wise to attempt to return to Stovely so soon, but how long would it be before he could forgive himself, before he could become reconciled to the part he had played in Stefan’s fate?

  * * *

  What had been intended as a stay of only a few days became a protracted visit, the duke preferring solitude and the calm atmosphere of Stovely to the bustle of the city. Within three days of his arrival, he sent a missive to his secretary in London instructing him to return his winnings to Lord Harwood. Knowing the agony of mind the young lord would be suffering, he would not have it that he should labor under the belief that he had lost all for longer than was necessary.

  The days turned into weeks and the first signs of spring started to form but still it brought no desire to return to London and he put all thoughts of it from his mind. For those who looked to see him in the clubs and gaming houses, it would seem that he had vanished from the face of the earth and his absence ceased to be commented on or his presence expected. Instead, he sought solace in riding out each day, driving himself and his mount to the point of exhaustion. He became a familiar sight galloping along the cliff tops regardless of weather, the locals likening him to a banshee. With cloak flying, impervious to the terrain, he drove his horse on, only checking their speed when obstacles dictated.

  It was on his return from one such excursion, that he received a letter from Sir Richard and taking it into the library he sat by the fire to read it. However, the information contained in the scrawled pages considerably saddened him. After the usual pleasantries, Sir Richard wrote that Lord Harwood, far from benefiting from the lesson he had attempted to teach him, had continued to gamble, losing heavily. After several attempts at the card tables to bring his fortune about and failing, he had died in a gaming-hell brawl over a dispute of his debts.

  “Young dolt,” expostulated Robert to the empty room, tightly balling the velum in his fist. He sat forward and threw the offending missive into the fire, watching as the hungry flames devoured it. “It would seem that there are those destined for self-destruction no matter how one tries to alter the course of fate.” He rose and poured himself a glass of brandy before going to his desk to pen a reply.

  * * *

  Some weeks later, when he had retired to his office with his agent intent on dealing with matters of the estate, Robert received news of a visitor.

  “A Miss Chandler wishes to see your grace,” informed the footman standing just within the door.

  The duke frowned, aware of a feeling of irritation and laid aside his pen. Turning to his agent he said, “I don’t recall a Miss Chandler. Should I?”

  “The lady begs to speak to your grace, says it is a matter of some urgency, sir,” informed the footman.

  “Then show her into the drawing room, I will be with her directly,” replied the duke, and bowing, the footman left immediately to do his bidding.

  Once more addressing his agent, Robert asked, “Do we know a Miss Chandler, Stevens? Upon reflection, I can vaguely remember the name of Chandler but I know not in what connection. Is she one of my tenants, I cannot recollect anyone of that name amongst my acquaintances?”

  “She is certainly not one of your tenants, sir,” replied Stevens, equally at a loss as his employer.

  Issuing a sound of impatience, Robert rose from his seat; he did not welcome the interruption. “Her arrival is somewhat of a mystery then. Whatever the reason for her visit I will deal with it as expediently as possible. I’m in no mood for petticoats.”

  He strode from his office, his steps ringing ominously loud on the marble tiling in the great hallway. He had not changed from his morning ride and was not attired for receiving female company. Indeed, he had no desire for it and found the visit irksome in the extreme, the mere thought of it trying his patience severely.

  Grasping the handle of the drawing room door, he snapped it open with some force, the sound of its opening taking the occupant quite by surprise. She turned sharply from the window where she had been viewing the grounds and her startled violet eyes instantly met his. She was a petite, fashionable young lady of one and twenty and immediately he was aware of her heart-shaped face and delicate features. She had an abundance of dark chestnut hair that was confined beneath a sapphire velvet tricorn and her blue velvet riding habit had a light covering of dust, which proved that she had ridden to Stovely rather than traveling by carriage, as was the usual wont of young ladies of fashion.

  The sight of her discomfiture checked the duke. “Miss Chandler, forgive me. It was not my intention to startle you,” he said somewhat mollified, as he executed a short bow. “Will you not be seated? I am informed that you have need to speak to me on a matter of urgency.”

  “It is not my wish to intrude, your grace,” she said in a pleasantly low voice as, turning toward the hearth, she took the proffered chair. She smoothed her skirts before raising her eyes once more to meet his. “Indeed if there had been any other course open to me, I can assure you I would not have troubled you. As it is, when you know the whole, I’m sure you will understand the need for my visit.”

  “Firstly allow me to order you some refreshment,” Robert said, with what he hoped was a little more civility, regretting his previous discourtesy. He rang the bell to summon a
footman before taking the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. “You must forgive me, Miss Chandler, I have become unused to company these past weeks, and I’m afraid my manners have suffered in consequence. However, it was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable and I apologize. It was unforgivable of me.” Then as a footman entered, “Would you take tea or do you prefer a glass of ratafia?”

  “Tea, if you please, your grace.”

  The duke nodded to the footman who retreated immediately to procure the desired refreshment.

  He sat back in his chair. “Now in what way may I be of assistance to you?” he enquired, raising his brow slightly.

  “Were it that simple, sir,” she replied. “But firstly I must introduce myself to you, I am Jane Chandler and my brother Harry and I live at Grebe Manor some miles distant from your boundaries.” She looked expectantly at him, as if hoping for some recognition of the name.

  The duke’s brow furrowed, even upon meeting his guest he was no further toward recognition. “I must be honest and tell you that try as I might I find I cannot recollect...”

  “We do not go about much in society, sir,” she offered in explanation. “Indeed, we live very quietly, but I had hoped that you would have heard of Harry. He serves in Kincaid’s regiment, as did your brother. They were, in fact, fellow officers.”

  At the mention of Stefan, the duke abruptly sat upright in his chair, his attention immediately riveted on his companion. “He served with my brother? Then he must have mentioned Harry in his letters. I beg your pardon, Miss Chandler, the possibility of the connection never occurred to me.” Dropping his voice he asked, “Are you aware of my brother’s death?”

  “I am, sir, and I’m truly sorry.” Her cheeks colored with confusion and she half rose as if to go. “Forgive me your grace, it is wrong of me to trouble you at such a time.”

  Sitting hastily forward the duke raised a hand to forestall her movement, the thought that he had discomfited her proving most unwelcome. “Please excuse me, Miss Chandler, I did not mean to sound so brusque. You must tell me of your plight. Is it in some way connected with your brother?”

  Jane resumed her seat and the duke saw the tears that threatened to overflow at any moment. He rose and crossed the hearth, proffering his handkerchief. “Come, my dear, you must not distress yourself, it is not necessary. It was most uncivil of me to bark at you so. Please allow me to apologize.”

  A knock came on the door and Mrs. James entered bearing the required refreshment. She had heard that the master had a female visitor, an unusual occurrence at Stovely, and curious as to the young lady’s identity, she had waylaid the footman to bring the tray in herself.

  “Here is the tea, it will help you to regain your composure,” said Robert softly, returning to his seat. He allowed the housekeeper to serve them and accepting his cup continued his scrutiny of his companion.

  When Mrs. James had retired from the room, Miss Chandler appeared restored to some equanimity, the warming liquid doing much to help revive her spirits. She attempted a wan smile as she laid aside her cup. “I can assure you, sir, I’m not usually prone to such shows of emotion but I’m come to the end of my tether. I just do not know which way to turn. Indeed, you are my last hope.”

  “Then we must see what is to be done. If it’s within my power, I will assist you in any way I can.” It took him somewhat by surprise to hear himself uttering these words. It had been the furthest thing from his mind when he had first entered the room but his companion presented such a disconsolate figure that the words came unbidden and he suddenly realized that he desired nothing more than to be of assistance.

  Miss Chandler seemed to hesitate slightly, confining her gaze to the carpet and pleating the handkerchief the duke had given to her. “It is for Harry that I ask your assistance, sir,” she said, raising her eyes to his face. “I know not what to do. I have received a message from Spain saying that he has sustained severe injuries. I do not know the extent of his wounds, but the surgeon says he would not survive the long overland journey back to England, his only hope being to return by sea. His injuries occurred at the storming of Badajos on the 7th of April; it is now the 24th. It has taken almost two weeks for the message to reach me and I have been trying in vain these past three days to find a captain who will sail to Lisbon, but no one is willing to take the risk of entering enemy waters. I was hoping, sir, that you may have heard of Harry from your brother and would be able to use your influence to secure a craft for me. Your word carries so much more weight than mine. I have the means to hire a vessel if you would but lend me your support.”

  “Is it Lisbon where he is held?”

  “No, sir, I must travel overland to Elvas where he is being cared for by his batman at an inn.”

  “And who travels with you?”

  “No one, I travel alone but will manage quite creditably if I can but find a craft prepared to undertake the journey.”

  The duke was silent for a moment, a frown creasing his brow, then of a sudden he rose to stand facing the hearth. With hands held tensely behind his back he gazed unseeing into the blaze.

  “I have a yacht at anchor in Portsmouth Harbor,” he said unexpectedly, turning to face her, The Mistral. I will place her at your disposal, Miss Chandler. You will find my captain will be more than ready to receive your instruction. I will make sure of it.” He raised his hand as she tried to protest. “There’s no need to distress yourself; your brother must be brought back to England as quickly as possible. He cannot be left abandoned in a foreign country.”

  “Sir, it was not my intention to ask this of you, only your support,” she cried, a flush rising to her cheeks, her agitation clear in her voice. “I cannot expect such generosity. Indeed, I cannot accept it, you are far too kind. You didn’t even know of our existence until I came to your door. Your support in hiring a vessel is all that’s necessary, I do assure you.”

  He came to stand before her, smiling briefly in an attempt to reassure. “That may be so, Miss Chandler, but there is no need to put yourself into such a taking. I have a solution to your problem and am willing to help you resolve it, so no more need be said. There is no necessity to continue your search for a vessel when I have one that is lying idle. When do you wish to depart for Lisbon?”

  Relief flooded through her at the duke’s words, bringing an upsurge of gratitude and she sat forward in her eagerness. “As soon as the journey can be arranged, your grace. I dare not delay. Too much time has been wasted already.” She smiled shyly and half extended her hand but realizing the impropriety of the action, withdrew it almost before it had left her lap. Dropping her voice she said, “I cannot thank you enough, sir. Indeed, how can I ever repay such a debt of kindness?”

  Her gesture had not gone unnoticed and Robert hastened to reassure her, not wishing her to feel in any way beholden to him. “There is no debt involved, I am only glad that I can offer a solution. We cannot allow another young life to be lost; therefore, speed is of the essence. To make the best possible time you must leave on the morning tide. I take it that you rode over from Grebe Manor. Did your groom accompany you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You should remain here but send your man back to collect whatever is necessary for the journey, and then he must return as quickly as possible. You needs leave here before daybreak to catch the tide. In the meantime, I will send instructions to Captain Storey to have The Mistral ready to sail and to follow your instructions to the letter. Now will that suffice, or have you any other requests?”

  Miss Chandler rose from her seat, smiling at her host. “That will certainly suffice, your grace, but I will trespass on your good nature no longer, I will return to the Manor to arrange things myself and you may be assured that I will not miss the tide. The journey will take my mind off other matters, matters that I dare not contemplate. I am sure you will understand that I prefer to be active at such a time as this and then I am not wont to dwell on possibilities.”

  “As y
ou wish, but I can assure you that Stovely is at your disposal should you change your mind.”

  She held out her hand to bid him farewell. “I thank you, sir, but I will set out immediately so that I may reach the Manor before the light starts to fade.”

  He took her hand in both of his and firmly clasped her fingers. “I wish you well in your mission, my dear,” he said with some sadness. “Would that I had been granted a like opportunity in Stefan’s case.”

  She guiltily withdrew her hand and in an instant was gone, leaving Robert to make such arrangements as were necessary.

  ***

  Returning to his office, the duke penned a letter to his captain with orders to prepare to sail on the morning tide and calling for a footman dispatched it immediately. His mind too preoccupied with Miss Chandler’s plight and having no desire to continue with estate matters, he dismissed his agent and instead repaired to the library.

  Seated in a large leather chair, he gazed pensively out of the window and allowed his thoughts full rein. He could scarce believe that his visitor’s predicament should have affected him so, but there rose in him a determination that, if it were within his power to prevent it, another young man would not suffer Stefan’s fate. There was no doubt in his mind that Harry should be, must be, returned from Portugal but he was also aware of the difficulties that would be faced in the process and the uncertainty of the journey’s outcome.

  His thoughts turned to Miss Chandler and her obvious determination to succeed. However, he thought her plan to travel alone was as foolhardy as it was impractical and it weighed heavily on his mind. He could not quite define what opinion he had formed of her, knowing only that she evoked a response in him. Indeed, there was no other young lady of his acquaintance who would have shown such strength when faced with a like predicament. However, far from viewing it as a lack of delicacy of mind he thought it to be applauded, believing it to be proof of a devoted and caring nature.