Frances had rejected a marriage proposal from John Eldredge, Marquess of Grimsby, and he had retaliated by calling her ‘fast’ and ‘unvirtuous’ — the worst possible insult to a young lady. Richard had thrown down his glove without hesitation and challenged him. Duels weren’t fought often in England, but Frances’ future depended on this one.
Her eyes fluttered open at last, and she sighed to her lady’s maid, who was awaiting her first orders of the day. ‘Call the kitchens and have them send up some tea and toast as we get dressed.’
Cat admired Frances for knowing how to run a household from the moment she woke up. It was knowledge that Cat had learned herself from living with the Hawthornes but would probably never have picked up on her own.
She had grown up in a family of boys, and her widowed father, a stablemaster for a wealthy family here in London, hadn’t been able to set aside much of a dowry for her — a mere £100, which paled in comparison to those of her friends. Papa had sent her to live at the Hawthornes’ estate years ago, in hopes that she’d pick up some manners.
Frances arose, seeing her lady’s maid returning. The girl spent some time shaping Frances’ long blonde locks into a proper coiffure. Cat tried to do her own blazing chestnut hair the same way but failed miserably. Instead, she pinned it into a simple chignon, hoping it would stay.
A maid from the kitchens left a tray with tea, toast, butter, and strawberry preserves on the table outside Frances’ bedchamber. While the girls dressed, the lady’s maid brought it in.
‘I’m in high fidgets about Richard fighting a duel,’ Frances admitted to Cat, her hands shaking as she lifted a teacup to her lips. ‘He’s my favourite of all my beaux. What if something happens to him?’
‘Nothing will happen. We lit candles last night and prayed until after midnight for his safety,’ Cat said, opening the wardrobe that held all of Frances’ beautiful, ornate dresses. She pulled out a dark maroon dress of rich brocade. The colour would make Frances’ violet-blue eyes stand out, Cat thought. ‘Why don’t you wear this? Red is the colour of victory, but this one is dark enough to indicate seriousness, don’t you think?’
‘Cat, you don’t understand. The Windham family … they’re marvellous,’ Frances said, tossing down the toast point she had just buttered, but now couldn’t eat. ‘The Duchess of Thornton is a wonderful woman, and after losing her husband … I can’t imagine her losing one of her sons as well!’
‘I understand, Franny,’ Cat said, thinking of her own mother, who had died from tuberculosis when she was twelve. She carefully arranged the dress on Frances’ unmade bed. ‘I think the best thing we can do is be there to show our support for Richard and the rest of the Windhams. Now let’s get dressed.’
After breakfast, Frances agreed to wear the maroon brocade and Cat put on her best dark blue day dress. They went down to the carriage house, where the Hawthornes’ carriage had been drawn, and rode towards the marshlands on the River Thames called Battersea Fields, where the duel was to be held. The particular location was secluded, so as not to attract attention.
On the way Frances looked ill, her colouring pale. She took Cat’s hand and squeezed it. Cat could feel the weight of this duel on her dear friend.
Upon arrival, the two girls hesitated in the carriage, with Frances too nervous to even alight. ‘What happens if he loses?’ she whispered.
‘Then he’s defended your honour, and you’re still a virtuous woman,’ Cat replied. ‘Any woman should be so lucky. But breathe, as best you can.’ Frances took two heavy, deep breaths. ‘Let’s go.’
The girls stepped out of the carriage and saw Richard standing there with Lord Henry Windham and Lord William Windham, two of his three dashing younger brothers.
Edith, Duchess of Thornton, had given birth to four of the most handsome young bachelors in London, if not in all of England — and three of them were triplets. Luckily, they were not identical, so one could tell them apart. All four save William had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Richard, the eldest, stood about six feet four, with the triplets close to his height.
Richard tipped his hat towards Frances and Cat. Henry, who had immediately volunteered as Richard’s second the night before, tipped his hat towards the girls as well.
Another carriage arrived; this duel seemed to be turning into a social event. It was Lady Tabitha Varden, a redhead whose curly locks had inspired the envy of all of London’s society women.
‘Franny!’ Lady Tabitha exclaimed, rushing to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘I couldn’t sleep a wink last night after the challenge! My dear, this is simply dreadful!’
‘Thank you for attending, Tabby,’ Frances said. ‘I do hope this matter is settled without any bloodshed.’
‘I do as well.’ Lady Tabitha glanced at Cat out of the corner of her eye, and her nose wrinkled slightly. ‘Best of luck to Richard.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Frances agreed.
‘Despite it all, you look lovely, Franny.’ Lady Tabitha sighed dramatically.
Then another carriage pulled up, and before it had even stopped, out jumped the girls’ best friends, Lady Hannah Wakeley and Arabella Chamblin.
Hannah’s older brother and his wife, Andrew and Vivian Wakeley, Duke and Duchess of Bedfordshire, alighted from the family carriage a little more carefully. Andrew had assumed responsibility for Hannah after their parents had both succumbed to cholera. He had taken in Arabella, his godchild, after she was orphaned as well.
‘Franny!’ Hannah exclaimed, running to hug her. ‘Oh, the moment we heard!’
‘I’m so happy you’re here,’ Frances said. ‘Thank you for coming to be with me at this horrid time.’
‘We love you,’ Arabella said in her whispery voice. ‘We wouldn’t be anywhere else. Good morning, Tabitha.’
‘That’s Lady Tabitha to you,’ Tabitha snorted in Arabella’s direction.
‘Tabby!’ Hannah snapped.
‘He’s here!’ someone in the crowd shouted, interrupting them. Lord Grimsby and another man were arriving by horseback. Ignoring the girls, they dismounted.
‘Let’s make this quick. I have an appointment before lunch,’ Lord Grimsby said loudly, intending the insult. ‘I have my second here, Josiah Wainwright.’
‘Let’s set the rules,’ Henry said.
‘No dumb shooting,’ Lord Grimsby said. ‘À l'outrance.’
Arabella cried out in horror, clutching her chest. Frances snatched Cat’s gloved hand. They would be shooting to kill!
Cat felt her friends’ fear, but she trusted that last night’s prayers would be heard, and Richard would be safe. For a moment, she admired Henry’s broad shoulders, his military uniform exaggerating his form. When he shed his jacket, she felt a rush of lightheadedness at what was revealed beneath — a form-fitting undershirt, silk probably, with no collar. His collarbones were showing now, and he hadn’t shaved yet this morning.
Cat shook her head to clear her thoughts. She couldn’t be fancying Henry, of all people, and at this sobering time. She’d be lucky to marry a merchant who could provide her with a good life. It would be absurd for her to set her sights on a nobleman.
Another horse galloped towards the gathering. Cat recognised Lord Benjamin, the youngest of the Windham brothers, who was at university studying to become a priest. He dismounted and joined the girls, having seen that he was too late to speak to Richard.
‘Benjamin, thank you for being here!’ Frances whispered. He took her gloved hand and kissed it.
‘I don’t approve of this,’ Benjamin said. ‘But he’s my brother.’
‘Thirty paces, then you can turn and shoot,’ Henry announced. ‘I will be counting your steps, Grimsby.’
‘And I’ll be counting the Duke’s,’ Wainwright replied, his upper lip curled in disgust.
The duellists came forward and stood back to back. Their seconds marked off the thirty paces with swords, stabbing the ground as they did. Richard spun the barrel of his pistol and snapped it into place. For a m
oment, Cat saw his jaw tremble, but other than that, he was stone-faced. This is so stupid, Cat thought. All it truly does is reduce the number of Franny’s suitors.
The two started marching their thirty paces. Despite Cat’s earlier calm, her heart was now thundering in her ears. The other spectators were dead silent.
Richard whipped around at almost the same time as Lord Grimsby, but Grimsby pulled the trigger just a second earlier. Cat threw her arms around Frances as Richard crumpled to the ground, holding his belly.
Frances wrung herself from Cat’s arms and ran to Richard’s side, wailing with shock and dismay. Henry and William were already attending their brother, while Benjamin had caught a swooning Arabella.
‘Please, someone!’ William cried. ‘Where is the physician for my brother?’
Cat hastened to Frances’ side. She knelt in tears, shaking, as the physician attending the duel examined Richard, who was holding a hand to his stomach wound. Cat hated seeing her in such a state and held onto her tightly.
Benjamin left Arabella in the care of Hannah, who was waking her up with a vial of smelling salts and knelt beside his brother.
‘He needs surgery,’ the physician said. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘What happened?’ Henry demanded of Richard.
‘I squeezed the trigger, but it jammed. It just wouldn’t discharge…’ Richard whispered, looking green. ‘Franny, I’d never let him ruin you, dear girl.’
A loud sob escaped Frances’ lips.
‘I’ll take over the duel, as your second,’ Henry promised.
‘No need. The matter is satisfied,’ Lord Grimsby called out, already preparing to leave. ‘I have a full day ahead, if you’ll excuse me.’
Cat couldn’t contain herself. ‘Bastard!’ she whispered and then, feeling bolder, raised her fist. ‘I rue the day you were born, Grimsby!’ she shouted. Through a haze of anger, she heard gasps.
‘What are you thinking?’ Henry cried, grabbing her fist. ‘Are you mad?’
Lord Grimsby’s face twisted, and he ran over, stripping off his glove. He grabbed Cat by the arm and slapped her across the face. She gasped: it stung. ‘How dare you —’
Henry pulled her away from him. ‘You won the duel. My brother’s wounded. Isn’t that enough?’
Lord Grimsby’s eyes blazed at Cat. He took three shallow breaths. ‘You’ll get yours, girl,’ he snarled and stormed away.
‘Don’t ever do that again,’ Henry snapped at Cat, his blue eyes burning into her dark ones. ‘He could have killed you! Are you daft or something?’
‘I’m not daft —’
‘Get hold of your temper, girl. Go home and say some prayers for Richard.’
~~*~~
Henry led William and Benjamin to the altar where the coffin lay, accompanied by a few other members of the nobility who had agreed to be pallbearers. He ran his hand across the wood, holding back tears.
Richard had not survived the surgery to extract the bullet from his belly. A raging infection and fever had overtaken him within hours, and he had died on the operating table.
Henry had thought it foolish to agree to duel to the death, but Richard had insisted. And so, Frances’ honour had been maintained, but Lord Grimsby had gotten away with getting rid of Richard out of spite after being rejected.
Henry hated Lord Grimsby now.
As the pallbearers carried Richard’s coffin out of the chapel, Henry saw that hoyden of a stablemaster’s daughter sitting with Frances, who was dressed in a black crape mourning gown. The girl — Catherine, he thought was her name — was wearing the same dark blue dress she had worn to the duel. The brown hair under her bonnet blazed like a sunset, and the two girls were linked arm in arm. Frances was dabbing at her eyes under her veil.
The girl avoided his gaze, but Frances looked up with red eyes. He nodded towards her as best as he could under the weight of the coffin. She nodded back, dabbing at her eyes again.
The pallbearers managed to carry the coffin outside to the hearse carriage, where commoners had gathered in a throng to watch as the body of the Duke of Thornton, who had held the title for only four short years, was taken to the mausoleum.
Richard’s mother, the Duchess of Thornton, was escorted out of the chapel by her older brother, her black veil covering her face and dropping all the way down to the knee line of her skirt — a proper length at this point, since she was entering yet another mourning period after losing her husband four years before. She would probably wear black crape for the rest of her life, and perhaps even be buried in it.
Having to bury her oldest son, their dead father’s namesake, had sent Mother Edith to bed for an entire day. Henry took her arm.
‘I have her, Uncle,’ Henry said.
‘Thank you, Henry,’ Mother said.
‘Let’s escort you to the carriage,’ Henry said. Their best carriage had been drawn for the occasion.
Mother was silent in her grief. He felt the heavy weight of the sudden absence in their family.
‘One consolation is that dear Frances girl is now engaged to the Duke of Scunthorpe because our Richard saved her virtue,’ Mother whispered. ‘They’ll be getting married soon.’
‘That’s wonderful news, Mother.’
‘They’re waiting to announce it until after Richard’s funeral. Richard did a wonderful gesture at that.’
‘Yes, he did. His death was not in vain. He was a good son. And brother.’
‘Yes. Yes, he was.’
~~*~~
After Richard’s coffin was put into the vault in the mausoleum, the Windham family returned home to their estate for the reception and receiving line. They received King George and his family, who offered their deepest condolences, and most of the royal court. Then came the nobility, and Henry saw the detestable stablemaster’s daughter with Frances again, standing with the rest of the Hawthorne family. After Frances’ family greeted Mother, she introduced them to Henry.
‘I heard you’ve been spoken for by the Duke of Scunthorpe,’ he whispered to Frances, kissing her gloved hand. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ Frances replied. ‘You’ll be at the wedding, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Henry said. ‘We all will.’ He turned to his brother. ‘William, may I present the Lady Frances Hawthorne —’
‘Henry!’ Frances exclaimed. ‘You forgot to greet my dear friend Catherine Byers. She’ll be one of my bridesmaids.’
Henry looked at Cat, who was glaring at him with narrowed eyes. She’d resented his chastising her at the duel, and now he was cutting her. She cleared her throat.
‘My apologies,’ Henry said. ‘I thought she was your servant. I look forward to seeing you at the wedding, Miss.’
‘Thank. You,’ Cat said pointedly.
‘Cat,’ Frances whispered.
‘Your grace,’ Cat added almost mockingly, curtseying.
~~*~~
It was nearly three in the morning when the receiving line ended, the Windhams having finally greeted everyone who had come to offer their condolences on Richard’s untimely passing. Mother escorted the family’s solicitor to the study, where he retrieved several legal documents. Henry helped Mother to the most comfortable chair in the room, then stood by her side.
‘Now that Richard is deceased, we must sign off on the change in title and endowments,’ the solicitor stated. ‘Henry, you are now the Duke of Thornton. You are no longer obligated to stay in His Royal Highness’ military,’ the solicitor continued, ‘but you must manage the Windham estate as a servant of the King. The Duchess is now in your financial care, with an entitlement of a third of the estate until her death.’ He continued ‘Although English common law provides for primogeniture and the descension of all property to Henry as the eldest living son, it is also Henry’s obligation by honour to care for his younger brothers, William and Benjamin. To that end, provisions include both an allowance and land allocated to each from the ducal estate.’ He droned on for some time more about t
he arcane details but came to the end at last and looked up at the brothers.
‘Now that Richard has passed, are we ready to sign the documents? Or are there questions?’
‘I have none,’ Henry said.
‘Nor have I,’ William said. He was the second-oldest brother now. It felt strange.
‘I feel unsettled about returning to university right away, with all that’s happened,’ Benjamin said. ‘Even though it’s long been a dream of mine to serve God through the Anglican Church.’
‘Brother, I am torn,’ Henry said. ‘I do not wish to interrupt your education, but I do wish you would stay home for a while with us as we adjust.’
‘Then I shall,’ Benjamin said. ‘I’ll be happy to be of service in whatever way I can.’
‘I’m happy to sign the documents,’ William said, ‘as long as we can have the traditional Irish mourning drink with Mrs O’Herring in the kitchens.’
Mother sighed. ‘Oh, you three shall be the death of me,’ she grumbled. ‘Drinking Irish whiskey with a servant?’
‘You know she loves us just as much as a grandmother would, Mother,’ Henry pointed out. ‘She was broken-hearted at the news of Richard’s death.’
‘Then let’s sign quickly. I’m feeling faint and need to retire to my bedchambers,’ Mother whispered. ‘I shall most likely stay in bed all day tomorrow. And the three of you need your rest as well.’
After signing the documents and dismissing the solicitor, the three wished their mother goodnight and made their way down to the kitchens, where the servants were beginning to assemble and Mrs O’Herring, a plump older Irish woman, was giving orders. She had been the cook and mistress of the kitchens at the Windham estate for as long as the brothers could remember, and she kept the servants on a tight leash.
‘Oh, me dear sweet boys,’ Mrs O’Herring sighed in her Irish brogue, opening her arms to hug and kiss each one of them. ‘So many times I’ve worried about ya, an’ now … with Richard dead… Oh!’ She burst into tears and withdrew a handkerchief from her apron pocket. ‘I put six babies in the ground, I did, but it never gets any easier!’
The Lord's Portrait (A Regency Romance) (The Regency Brothers in Love Book 2) Page 7