A Damsel for the Daring Duke_A Historical Regency Romance

by Bridget Barton

  “I would be lying if I did not tell you I am still tempted. You see, my father always treated my mother and me as if we were no more than appendages, not real people with lives and feelings, the same hopes and dreams as others. I know that he made my mother feel helpless on so many occasions and, in the end, he did exactly the same to me, did he not?”

  “Yes, I suppose he did.”

  “And that feeling of exasperation that comes along with it, knowing you are helpless and knowing there is nothing you can do about it, nothing you can do or say to change the matter, eats away at your soul day in and day out. And that feeling has not lessened these last three years.”

  “But I daresay it is to come to an end quite naturally, without any intervention from you.” Hector cast his eyes upwards towards the ceiling as if to indicate the man dying in his sick bed above.

  “Yes, it is. And yet I still cannot escape the feeling that my father ought to know that feeling of helplessness, even if it is only once, and even it if it is only for a few moments before the end comes.”

  “I will not lie to you and say that the Duke does not deserve it, for I truly believe that he does. But it is not the Duke who concerns me this day, James, but my oldest friend. You are not a cruel man, and you never have been; that is what sets you apart from your father, what makes you so very different. I truly believe that if you go ahead with such a plan, you will live to regret it, and you do not deserve that. Such an act would change you, James, and not for the better. There is an opportunity now for you to return to the man you once were.”

  “You think me so very changed, then?”

  “These last three years you have lost the light that once shone from you, my dear chap. You have lost your humour, and I for one have missed your incredible wit, for you keep it hidden these days.”

  “I daresay I have missed it also,” James said solemnly. “But I did not lose it on account of my father. I lost it because I lost her, you see. And without her, I cannot see my old spirit returning.”

  “There is nothing to say that you have lost her forever,” Hector said solicitously. “After all, my cousin has never married, nor has she ventured down the path of courtship at all since you were last in the east of the county. You need not be a stranger to Hanover Hall anymore either, need you?”

  “There is truth in what you say, Hector. But I am afraid that your truth does not account for the scorn of a beautiful young woman who would quite rightly feel I turned my back on her. I have no guarantee at all, do I?”

  “There are no guarantees in this life, my friend.”

  “Indeed, there are not.”

  At that moment, the door opened, and there stood one of the maids looking awkward and nervous.

  “What is it, Daisy?” James said in a kindly tone and smiled at the young girl in a bid to reduce her discomfort.

  “Forgive me, Lord Harrington, but the physician has asked me to call you up to His Grace’s room.”

  “Thank you kindly, Daisy,” James said and rose to his feet. “I shall make my way there now.”

  He nodded as the maid curtsied and disappeared from the room.

  “I shall be here waiting for you, James,” Hector said with a nod. “And I know you to be the better man.”

  “Thank you.”

  James took the stairs two at a time, sensing the sudden urgency in the situation. He felt nervous and a little as if he was in a dream rather than reality.

  How many times he had longed for this moment. How many times in the last three years he had wished that his father would fall face-down into his plate as he stuffed his mouth with bacon and kidneys day after day.

  And yet now that the time had come, James suddenly felt his animosity drain away from him. A life was about to end, even if it belonged to a man he neither loved nor even liked. But still it was a life, and despite his own disagreements with the way it had been lived, its ending still deserved decorum and respect. All lives should end that way.

  He took a deep breath outside his father’s chamber door before entering. The old Duke looked almost the same as ever he did, his large belly clearly defined beneath the layers of sheets and blankets, his round face as red as always, and his faded yellow hair seeming no more unkempt than it ordinarily did.

  And yet there was an aura about the man, a sense that filled the room and spoke of his impending departure from this mortal coil.

  “I did not know if you would come,” Richard Harrington said in a quiet voice, the only obvious change in him.

  “Of course, I came,” James said and pushed a small wooden chair closer to the bed before sitting down on it. “I would not leave you alone in these moments.”

  James turned to the maid who was hovering in the room and smiled at her, nodding his agreement for her to leave the room, to leave father and son alone at last.

  “After everything I have done, still you are here. You really are your mother’s son,” he said, but the tone was not disparaging as it had always been. “And finally, I am grateful for that, for your mother raised you well. She raised you not to leave an old man alone dying after all, regardless of what he had done to you.”

  “Well, I suppose it is done now.” James could hardly believe that he felt emotional, that he felt a creeping sense of loss.

  He knew at that moment that he would not let Hector down; he would not say the spiteful words he had planned and practiced every day of the last three years. And not only for his own sake as Hector had suggested, but his father’s.

  He knew he did not have the right to send a man to his grave with such worries in his heart, however many worries that man had caused other people. To do it would be to somehow condone his father’s behaviour. Surely to act in the same way was to be the same, and he would not do that.

  “We have butted heads these last three years, have we not?” the old Duke went on weakly.

  “Yes, we have.”

  “I do not blame you. I mean, I do not blame you for refusing to marry, not after what I did.”

  James could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was true that he had spent the last three years in stoic belligerence, refusing the company of any young lady his father suggested, or if accepting it, doing so for his own sport, to make the young lady in question and his father feel as uncomfortable as possible.

  More than once, his father had threatened that if he did not marry soon, he would go ahead with his original threat to expose Lord Lucas Cunningham for fathering an illegitimate child with a servant. But James had had enough of threats and had simply told him to go ahead and carry it out and watch James walk away from the Duchy forever.

  James issued a threat of his own, a threat to leave the country and live on the continent and let the Duchy fall into whatever hands it may.

  The result was a kind of stalemate that had lasted for three years.

  “I tried to tell you, Father, that I would never love anybody else, and it was true,” James said, speaking softly, determined not to argue with his father in those last moments.

  “I know, Son. But I suppose I dug in my heels; I had pushed the thing too far, and my pride would not let me go back against it.”

  “Well, as I said before, it is done.”

  “I do not expect your forgiveness, but I shall tell you now what I should have told you before. That you should find her and marry her. I know you are free to do that anyway now. You will be the Duke within the hour; I am sure of it. But I should like you to know in these last moments that I am sorry for what I did to you, and it would please me to know that you would get what you desired in the end.”

  “Then I shall do my best to try to win her affections once again,” James said and felt suddenly emotional.

  Of all the things he had expected of this day, reconciliation had not formed a part of it. He felt sad that things had not improved between them sooner, that it had taken his father’s dying for this moment to come.

  “But you must have a care, James,” the Duke said, and sud
denly his breathing became extremely laboured. “You cannot trust Charles Holt. If you dismiss him from this place as I am sure you are bound to do when you are the Duke, he will seek his revenge. He will carry through my threat; I am sure of it.”

  “I shall heed what you say, Father. You have told me now, and you need not worry about it any further.”

  “I am sorry that I was not a better father to you. But I suppose it is only facing one’s death which raises questions about the way one has lived his life. I wonder if it is the same for all men.” His breathing became even more laboured, and the reddish complexion began to turn grey.

  “I think it is the same for us all, Father.” James blinked hard, feeling the desperate sadness of the situation.

  There was so much now that could not be changed, but at least his father had recognized it, had apologized for it. It would not take back all that he had done; in truth, it would not take back a bit of it, but James had a sense that he could now close the door on that; that he could move on with life only looking forward, never looking back.

  Perhaps that was as much as could ever have been done.

  The old Duke did not speak again but breathed heavily for almost an hour. Intermittently, his breath stopped completely, and each time, James thought that he had gone. But then the breathing would begin again, and James simply reached out and took his father’s hand and waited for the end.

  Before the sun went down on that day, the old Duke of Sandford took his last breath, and his son, contrary to everything he had ever thought would happen in that last moment, cried.

  Chapter 22

  “I think it would do you good, my dear, to have a few weeks with your Aunt Gwendolyn,” Lucas Cunningham said with a warm smile. “A change of scenery is a good thing for a person.”

  “I remember very little of my Aunt Gwendolyn, Papa, and cannot even say if I like her or not. It is all very well sending me away for a few weeks, but what are you sending me into?” Charlotte said waspishly.

  “Dear me, but you have become sour,” the Baron said and laughed heartily. “And I can tell you most faithfully that Gwendolyn Dearborn is a very sweet creature, every bit your mother’s sister. And she is a widow now, so she will be sweeter than ever.”

  “Papa, you do say the silliest things,” Charlotte said and finally gave in and laughed. “There is nothing to say that a woman who has become a widow looks more favourably upon the world.”

  “They do if their husband was tiresome, which I seem to remember hers was.” Lord Cunningham chuckled.

  “This is why I cannot take you out into society, Papa,” Charlotte chastised him playfully, thoroughly enjoying his irreverent sense of humour. “The things you say.”

  “At least Ruth finds me amusing, do you not, my dear?” He turned to look across Charlotte’s chamber to where Ruth was packing her mistress’ things into a large wooden trunk.

  “Always, My Lord,” Ruth said ambiguously, and the Baron roared with laughter.

  “I cannot tell who is the cleverest of the two of you. Perhaps you are as clever as one another.”

  “We are, Papa, that is why we get along so well,” Charlotte said truthfully.

  “And you will have your dear Ruth with you over in the south of the county, so you are guaranteed a very nice time, are you not?” the Baron went on.

  “You are quite determined to have me gone, are you not?” Charlotte said teasingly. “I cannot help thinking that you are up to something.”

  “The only thing I am intent upon, my dear daughter, is to see a smile on your face for once. You cannot hover around this house as if you are haunting it like a determined ghost, my dear.”

  “I am not as bad as all that.” Charlotte laughed although her father’s comment certainly rang true.

  Charlotte had spent the last three years avoiding any attachment whatsoever. Now at three-and-twenty, every person she ever met in society volubly wondered why it was that such a fine young woman was not yet married.

  She had her reasons, of course, but they were certainly not something she could give to the inquisitive ladies and gentlemen of society.

  But whilst she had, indeed, been out in society with and without her father, Charlotte had expertly kept any potential suitors at bay.

  For a while, her determination made her something of a curiosity, a challenge even, and she had found herself perpetually courted by an array of inordinately suitable young men, even men of title whom other young ladies would have jumped at the chance of attracting.

  But Charlotte had been, as far as she was concerned, the object of a challenge once before, and her determination never to be so vulnerable again had not waned by even half an inch over the years.

  The truth was that she still thought of James Harrington, even though she had not set eyes on him since the night of the ball on Lord Morley’s estate. The night they had kissed.

  If she had realized that it would be the last time she would ever see him, Charlotte would never, ever have allowed him to kiss her. She would have turned away from him and walked smartly back through the French windows, out of the seductive night and back to the safety of the ballroom.

  She had, in fact, done just that time and time again in her own imagination. And every time she had turned her back on the Duke’s son, her spirits soared. That was how it should have ended, with her the victor instead of him.

  And that was why she would never allow herself to become a part of any challenge again, for she had come to know that was exactly what she had been to James Harrington. She had known it all along, and yet she had chosen to dismiss it in favour of falling in love with him. Well, she would never be such a fool again.

  Despite her determination never to make herself vulnerable, still, she could not always think of him so angrily.

  There were times when his handsome smile, his immaculately clipped dark hair with the sprinkling of silver, and those mesmerizing, bright green eyes, came into her mind without invitation.

  She always, always indulged the image for a moment or two, remembering what it felt like to be so excited, to be so in love, to have such high hopes for the future.

  Charlotte had filled her time well enough in the last three years, playing bridge with friends, reading, walking, and the usual daily conversations with Ruth.

  But it was all wearing a little thin somehow, and her idea of finding a sensible man of reasonable wealth whom she would never risk falling in love with was proving a little more elusive than she had ever imagined.

  The problem was that when speaking to some young man or other who was intent upon courting her, Charlotte’s tender heart always found something about them to like.

  And whilst she had not yet set eyes upon another man who rendered her as helpless as James had done, she knew that where there was like, there would undoubtedly, one day, be love. Or at least there was a risk that one day love would follow, and she knew it was a risk that she would never take.

  Surely, she would be as vulnerable with a man she had slowly fallen in love with as she had been with the man who had taken her heart almost instantly. Love was love, was it not? And as such, it was a thing to be avoided in all forms and at all costs.

  “Perhaps not as bad as a real ghost, but surely not far behind,” her father went on, snapping her back into the here and now.

  “Well, since I am not engaged in any other way, perhaps I should take this little trip to see my mother’s sister. As you say, it might do me good. And if it does not do me good, surely it will not do me harm.” Charlotte shrugged.

  In truth, the idea of a change of scenery did appeal to her just a little. Gwendolyn Dearborn lived in the south of the county, and so Charlotte did not imagine that she would find her path crossing with that of Lord Harrington. At least that was what she hoped.

  Charlotte had been very determined to find out nothing about James in the last three years, however much she had been tempted to do so on occasion.

  From that night at Hanover Hall whe
n Hector had received word from a messenger that his friend would not be coming, Charlotte had chosen never to bring up the subject of James Harrington again.

  She had, of course, been in Hector’s company more than once in the last three years and knew very well that Hector was a regular visitor now to Sandford.

  But she had determined never to make herself vulnerable again, and searching for details of James Harrington’s life could only serve to make her so.

  It would do her no good to hear of the woman he had undoubtedly turned his back on her in favour of, nor would it do her any good to hear that he was now married and had children.

  Of course, she did not know that any of this was true, but she thought it best to imagine the worst so that she would never have expectations again of a love of such intensity.