A Damsel for the Daring Duke_A Historical Regency Romance

by Bridget Barton

  “He is a dear, but not always in the mood for society.” Charlotte laughed also. “But he will be better for a little nap, I daresay.”

  “You have already unpacked.” Ruth looked at the open door which led to a small, square space in which a rail was set.

  Charlotte, never one to sit idle, had hung the few garments she had brought with her whilst her maid attended her father, Lord Lucas Cunningham travelling, as always, without a valet of his own.

  Her father was a pleasantly down-to-earth sort of a man who liked to manage for himself. And as far as appearances went, he was little bothered what his hosts thought of him for travelling without the sort of entourage that other men of title did as a means of further emphasizing their status. Lucas Cunningham just did not think in such convoluted circles; he was as he was.

  Still, he was in the home of distant relatives this time, people who knew him well and fully expected him to leave the majority of his household staff at home.

  Lawrence Hanover was a second cousin to Charlotte’s father, or at least she thought he was. Either way, the men had been good friends, and Lord Cunningham had readily accepted the invitation of a few days of sport, an event being largely arranged by Lawrence Hanover’s son, Hector.

  Hector was a very pleasing, if rarely serious, man whom Charlotte had always liked. He was always amusing company and so lighthearted it was impossible to be in low spirits in his presence.

  Whilst there were few sports that Charlotte was particularly interested in, she was a good horsewoman and had been promised a little archery. All in all, she was looking forward to the gathering very much indeed.

  “Oh yes, Miss,” Ruth said suddenly, clearly having just remembered something. “I have discovered the identity of the young man who stared at you so brazenly when we arrived.” She looked triumphant.

  “Goodness me, you do not waste any time, Ruth.” Charlotte laughed and sat on the bed, patting hard upon the extraordinarily firm mattress to indicate her maid should sit next to her.

  Ruth sat down with a bump, and her eyes widened.

  “You shall do well to have a good night’s sleep on this.” She laughed. “It’s a little … firm … is it not?”

  “Lawrence Hanover likes to invest in things which last.” Charlotte grimaced as she bounced a little. “There’s not a lot of give, is there?”

  “My mattress in the visiting servants’ quarters is more comfortable.” Ruth sat right next to her.

  The two young women had been together for years. Ruth Clarkin had come to Thurlow Manor, her father’s estate when she was just eleven and Charlotte thirteen.

  Her father had decided out of the blue that his daughter would have her own maid and gave the reason that she was to be cossetted a little for having no mother living.

  Charlotte had been thrilled at first, thinking herself a little grand to enjoy such a consideration. But she soon forgot her little ideas of elevated status when the two of them got along better than sisters.

  Ruth Clarkin was a fine young girl who had come to them from a local family, and Charlotte, being at home and a little lonely much of the time, found herself turning to her new maid as a friend more than anything else.

  And it was a relationship which had blossomed and gone from strength to strength ever since. Now that Charlotte was twenty and Ruth eighteen, they were closer than anyone knew.

  Charlotte often mused that she had friends in society whom she always regarded simply as acquaintances because she knew in her heart what a real friend was. She counted herself blessed, thinking how hard it must be for other young ladies who do not enjoy such closeness.

  “I might have to swap places with you then. This is more an instrument of torture than a bed.” Charlotte gave Ruth’s arm a light and playful pinch. “Anyway, who was this Mr Brazen you have already tracked down? I am keen to hear his name and see if I know it.” Charlotte’s eyes were wide with inquiry.

  “He is Lord James Harrington,” Ruth said with a flourish, her eyebrows raised so high she looked a little startled.

  “Lord James Harrington,” Charlotte repeated in a quiet voice, searching her mind for any reference. “No, I cannot place the name, although Harrington is familiar to me.”

  “Well, it would be,” Ruth said, and it was clear she knew exactly who the young man was and was relishing her moment.

  When they had drawn up more than an hour before, at the front of Hanover House, it was to find themselves a part of a rather grand melee. There were carriages all over the place and footmen racing about with bags and leather-bound travelling trunks.

  Charlotte had peered out of the carriage window to secretly study some of the guests, looking for faces she recognized before getting out.

  There were people she recognized by sight but had yet to be introduced to, and she was pleased about that. She liked to meet new people and thought it was always fun to have conversations with others who were trying to be impressive. It amused her in a harmless sort of a way.

  And the sport going on for a few days would mean that there would be time for her to see the mask of impression slip from one or two of them if she was lucky.

  “Have you finished with your secret observations my dear? Can I get out of this carriage yet? I want to straighten my old bones,” her father said, and Charlotte caught Ruth’s amused look.

  “My Lord, we have been travelling only twenty minutes,” Ruth said brightly, and Charlotte’s father laughed.

  Ruth had a way with Lord Cunningham and was always able to convince him out of any tendency towards ill humour.

  “Quite so, my dear Ruth. You are always here to bring me back down to earth, are you not?” He let himself out of the carriage and stretched and straightened, just as promised.

  The driver came around to help the ladies down, but Lord Cunningham released him so that he might deal with their luggage and helped Charlotte and Ruth down himself.

  As soon as the ladies were out, Lord Cunningham wandered around to the back of the carriage to give the driver gentle instruction and advice that he truly did not need, but which he accepted with practiced grace.

  Charlotte was about to make some humorous aside to Ruth when she suddenly became intensely aware that she was being studied herself.

  She turned her head a little and found herself looking at a handsome man a few years her senior. He was exceptionally well groomed, with the neatest thick dark hair she had ever seen. He was very tall and built in a rather manly way, being broad and strong-looking.

  Realizing that she had perceived his interest, Charlotte thought he would likely look away from her. However, he continued to stare in her direction and, after a moment or two, Charlotte found herself growing a little annoyed with his impertinence.

  Ruth disappeared around the back of the carriage, and Charlotte could hear her deftly intervening in the conversation taking place there, seamlessly handling Lord Cunningham’s misguided attempts at assistance.

  Charlotte, standing alone, turned so that she was square on to the persistent man. She thought that such an obvious display of displeasure on her part might go some way to dissuading him from his current occupation.

  However, it did not. He continued to stare at her, only now he was smiling. Charlotte felt her mouth drop open just a little; the nerve of the man to stand and stare at her like that when she had made it plain she had seen him!

  Charlotte had the most curious feeling as the two of them stood staring at one another, neither of them ready to give in and look away. It was as if they were suddenly in a silent world of their own, with people dashing this way and that, activity going on all around them, but they were both still.

  They remained almost as two points of reference; static hinges about which the rest of the world turned in its own bustling, noisy fashion. Yet still, their own silent and still world remained.

  Charlotte, wanting to break the gaze, tipped her head a little to one side and raised her eyebrows at the man quizzically. She would have b
roken their stare herself, but she did not want to be the first to give in.

  Something about it all had become a little competitive, and she had the sense of wanting this man to know he had already bitten off far more than he could chew in choosing to stare at her. Much better he stare at some other young lady; one who would blush and look away, only to peer back and see if the handsome man was still studying her.

  Charlotte was most certainly not that sort of young lady, and she would have stamped on her own foot if her cheeks had dared to blush and let her down in such a way.

  The man smiled wider still, and she felt a further stab of annoyance that it made him even more handsome. His skin was very tanned as if he spent much of his time out of doors, and his eyes were light, either green or blue, she could not quite tell from that distance.

  His hair looked as if it was a little prematurely greying in parts, just here and there, and predominately at the temples. She could not think he was older than thirty years, and perhaps he was not even that.

  He wore a tan coloured tailcoat over a dark brown waistcoat and breeches, and it was a shade which suited him very well.

  She could not help thinking that a man who was so well proportioned must be a true delight to his tailor, for surely it was a much simpler thing to make such well-fitting clothes for a well-favoured man.

  It seemed to Charlotte that the more determined she became to hold his gaze and not look away, the more determined he became to do the same. She realized that, despite the fact that the man had started it all, she had taken her part very well and was likely now as guilty of such foolery as he was.

  Charlotte became aware that Ruth had returned to her side, but her maid remained silent, and it was clear that she too had perceived the man’s interest.

  In the end, the man was forced to relent. Hector Hanover had clearly spotted him from a distance and was calling out to him in his customarily noisy fashion. The man, realizing he would have to concede victory, bowed deeply at Charlotte and smiled before turning to Hector and greeting him warmly.

  “Well, I must say, what a brazen man,” Ruth whispered in her ear. “How long has he studied you like that?”

  “For some minutes,” Charlotte said and, with an effort she had not expected, finally tore her own gaze away from him. “But I did not blush, nor did I give in.”

  “That’s good, Miss. You taught him a lesson,” Ruth said with admiration.

  “I am not so sure. I cannot escape the feeling that one would have to go a very long way to teach a man like that a lesson of any kind. I can quite imagine he is impervious to most lessons.”

  “Handsome, though,” Ruth added with a wicked chuckle.

  “Yes, he is that, Ruth.” Charlotte bit her bottom lip in an attempt to shake herself out of the curious little spell she seemed to be under. “I shall take care not to find myself alone with him.” She laughed as Ruth sucked in her breath.

  She had nearly, but not quite, forgotten about the little encounter as she had settled herself into the chamber allotted her by the Hanover family.

  Now that Ruth had more details, however, Charlotte found herself interested to discover exactly who her staring opponent was.

  “So, tell me, why would the name Harrington be familiar to me? Do not leave me hanging,” Charlotte said when Ruth had maintained an amused silence for quite long enough.

  “Well, as I said, he is Lord James Harrington,” Ruth began a little grandly. “Son of Richard Harrington, the Duke of Sandford, no less!” Ruth finished with a flourish.

  “The Duke of Sandford. Yes, that is how I know the name Harrington,” Charlotte said.

  “Are you not impressed, Miss? The man who studied you is the son of a Duke. A man who would be Duke one day.” Ruth was clearly excited.

  “Oh dear, I would rather he was not,” Charlotte said, and Ruth gripped her hand.

  “But why?”

  “Because he will undoubtedly suffer from the sort of character which finds itself forever entitled. Men of such title, or who are one day to inherit such titles, are almost always the same. I find them rather tedious in their manners, and their over-confidence always grates upon my nerves.”

  “But this one studied you, Miss. Really studied you.”

  “Yes, like a leaf under a microscope. Really, such scrutiny should only be used by scientists and botanists!” Charlotte said pettishly, and Ruth burst into noisy laughter.

  “Oh, you do make me laugh,” she said, and her eyes shone with mirth. “Really, any other young lady in the county would be thrilled to be so looked upon by a handsome man who would one day be Duke.” Ruth caught her breath. “But not you. You are determined to pull him to pieces and decide his character before he has a chance to show it to you.”

  “You may laugh, Ruth,” Charlotte said, laughing herself in what was always a contagious form of her maid’s high spirits. “But I think he already showed me enough of his character in that look of his.”

  “But how?”

  “By not looking away when I perceived his interest.”

  “Then you wanted to beat him at his own game, and you are annoyed that he did not readily give in to you.” Ruth was so amused that Charlotte could hardly wait for her next encounter with the impertinent Duke-in-waiting.

  “Perhaps,” she said and grinned. “Let us see what else he has in his arsenal, shall we?”

  “For his sake, I hope it is more than a hard stare,” Ruth said, and the two women began to laugh heartily.

  Chapter 3

  “I think I might prefer to be nearer the front of this lot, Charlotte.” Lucas Cunningham was clearly feeling much brighter and more sociable than he was the day before.

  “By all means, Papa. But do leave me where I am, for I am not at all interested in the hunt. I only want to ride, and that is all.” Charlotte smiled in an attempt to relieve her father of whatever obligation he might feel to stay with her.

  Things were always a little freer on such an excursion, and Charlotte did not mind at all for it would give her a little time to be in company and yet, at the same time, be alone if she wanted. She was a very good horsewoman and could easily dart away from the rest when their attention was drawn by the hunt.

  “You will be quite alright?” her father said hopefully.

  “Of course I shall be alright.” Charlotte laughed. “Papa, what on earth could there be to worry about? We are still on Hanover land, and I am surrounded by horses and riders on all sides. You are hardly leaving me alone.”

  “Well, I should not like you to think I am abandoning you.” He smiled at her, and the skin around his pale blue eyes crinkled pleasingly.

  Lucas Cunningham was best described as grey. His hair, which was still thick, was every strand of it grey. His face, no longer smooth and tanned, appeared a little grey also. And his pale blue eyes seemed paler the older he grew.

  All in all, it seemed to Charlotte as if her father had been rinsed out somehow, and all his colour had departed.

  He was, however, still a very pleasant looking gentleman, with a ready smile and friendly ways. He was, perhaps, a little frustrating at times, and often his attempts to help were nothing but a hindrance, even if the attempt was kindly meant.

  No doubt he would make his way to the front of things, and then, at the crucial moment when the quarry was in sight, he would unwittingly find himself in the way, disrupting proceedings without even trying.

  But he was such a nice man that nobody ever seemed to mind. It was just Lord Lucas Cunningham trying to help as usual.

  “I shall survive the insult, Papa.” She shook her head.

  “That’s the spirit, dear,” he said with a bright smile before blundering off towards the front, his horse bumping every other one he passed.

  Charlotte watched him disappear in a flurry of I’m sorry and do excuse me, and she laughed quietly to herself. He was a sweet man, and she loved him dearly.

  As she ambled along, enjoying the clear, bright blue sky and the co
ol, crisp air, she was glad for the ride out. The horse that Hector had allotted her was a fine one, and she was pleased that her distant cousin had not patronized her with a small and plodding horse. He knew her well enough and had seen her ride one too many times to think that a suitable option.

  “You are not interested in the hunting, then?” a man’s voice said from just a little behind her.

  Charlotte slowed her horse further still to allow the speaker to come alongside. She was not at all surprised to discover it was James Harrington, and she turned to look him squarely in the face.

  “And there was I thinking that you could only communicate with your eyes, Sir,” Charlotte said with a smirk.