Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Yes, loyalty is to be condoned. And now there are those who are softening towards the Duke because of his recent tragedy.”

  “And I daresay because of his recent rise in status, My Lady.”

  “Yes, everyone wants to move up. But what the Duke did to Lady Judith is unforgivable, Mary.”

  “Yes, My Lady. If he did it.”

  “What do you mean? If he did it?”

  “There are actually only two individuals involved in the scandal, My Lady. One says one thing, the other says something else. The ton has chosen to believe Lady Judith up to now. But, she is a mere woman. And Lord Robert ... well, he is a Duke now. The hawks are sharpening their talons deciding who holds the key to their betterment in society. The scandal is one’s word against the other’s. And, from where I stand, His Grace has the advantage. At least for the time being.”

  “Well, I believe Judith, but I’m trying to stay neutral in my words and actions.”

  “My Lady, May I speak plainly?”

  “Of course. What do you have to say?”

  “You allowed Lady Judith to stay here last night. Do you think that is a neutral action?”

  “Oh la! Mary! Am I expected to turn my back on someone in need? You said yourself that I could be a helping hand and not take sides.”

  “Yes, My Lady. But by believing Lady Judith, you’ve already taken sides. And then ...”

  “And then, what? Do you have any hints on how I might better manoeuvre the situation?”

  Mary looked down and said nothing.

  “Mary? What would you do?”

  “I would like to think, My Lady, that what I would do is remember that men are not exclusive to lying.”

  “You mean, you think Lady Judith is lying?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Not necessarily? That tells me nothing. Why are you talking in circles?”

  “I don’t know if she’s lying, but I think, I think Lady Judith might not be who she says she is.”

  “But what does that mean? If she is not who she says she is, doesn’t she immediately become a liar?”

  “Lord Thomas is in the sitting room, Lady Phoebe.” Mr. Harris, the butler came in to announce that Phoebe’s escort had arrived.

  “Mary, let us talk later.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  “Please go and entertain Lord Thomas until I come down.” Phoebe smiled. “Go now.” She laughed and shooed the girl away. She wondered if there was anything she could do to enable Mary and Tom to be together.

  *******

  Lady Phoebe came back from the luncheon on Regent Street, exhausted. The double funeral had been a most sombre affair, some ladies delicately dabbing their eyes with linen handkerchiefs, while others needed their salts. Still others, in hysterics, had to be escorted from the church.

  The luncheon had been no better. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Terence had tried to place Lady Judith away from the new Duke, but she would hear none of it. Regardless of how he had treated her, her cousin needed her now, she’d said loudly. She was the only real family he had left she’d said. And the Duke had nodded to Terence to put the woman wherever she wanted to be, if only to quiet her.

  Lady Phoebe’s heart had gone out to Atwater for just a moment then. She saw, very clearly, how Lady Judith had manipulated the situation in her favour. Much as she had done the night before with Phoebe. And as of today, Lady Judith had barely acknowledged Phoebe’s presence. It seemed very strange indeed, and Phoebe’s thoughts went back to Mary’s and Lord Thomas’s words.

  Could she be wrong about Lady Judith? Phoebe closed her eyes willing herself to come back to her senses. Her head was aching. It was time to leave. She’d asked Terence to have Dan ride her home as she hadn’t wanted to disturb Lord Thomas who’d stood by Atwater all morning and afternoon. Atwater and Lord Thomas were deep in conversation.

  She ducked out through the area and around the back to the mews. She wanted to avoid both Atwater and Judith.

  Once home, Phoebe placed her hand upon the stair rail and slowly made her way up the steps. Mary hurried to her as she stepped onto the second floor. “My Lady, come quick. It’s His Grace.”

  “What’s wrong, Mary?” The maid took Phoebe’s hand, and they rushed to the bedchamber door.

  “I sent for the doctor, My Lady. I was about to send for you. Thank Heavens you’re here.”

  Lady Phoebe threw the door to the chamber open and went to her father’s bedside. She sank to her knees, taking the elderly man’s hand. “Father, it’s me. Phoebe.”

  Duke Carlisle’s breathing was laboured, his face white, and little beads of sweat stood out along his brow. He cracked his eyes open and attempted a smile. “My Phoebe,” he whispered. “Such a good girl. I love you. Be good.”

  “I’ll be good, Papa.” Tears sprang to Phoebe’s eyes. Her father’s condition had plummeted in the three hours she’d been gone from the house.

  The Duke patted her hand which rested on his weakening heart. “Be good to …” the effort of speaking was sapping up his remaining energy.

  “I will Papa.”

  “... the Duke.”

  “I don’t understand, Papa.” Phoebe’s eyes met Mary’s with the question. What is he saying?

  “Atwater.” The old duke closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them again, they held the glow of fever.

  “What do you mean, Papa?”

  “I see, your mother.” He smiled and closed his eyes once more never to reopen them.

  “Papa! Papa!” Lady Phoebe called to her father. “Please, speak to me.”

  The doctor stepped into the room and put his hands on her shoulders. He helped her stand up. “He’s gone, Lady Phoebe. I’m very sorry.”

  Mary came and helped Phoebe upstairs to her bedchamber. “Oh Mary, how could this have happened?”

  “Doctor Smead said the typhus is taking many of the elderly, My Lady.”

  “It’s awful, the old Duke, the Marquess, and now my father ... it feels as if it’s too much to bear. And why did my father talk about Atwater? He must have been delirious. So strange. But he did know the Weston brothers since they were children. And the old Duke Atwater and he were close. Or as close as gambling cronies can be.

  “And now I’ll never be able to speak to my father again.” Phoebe broke down in tears. Mary helped her undress and tucked her in to the big soft feather bed with a hot decoction to calm her. Phoebe drank the elixir and handed the cup to her maid.

  “Rest now, Lady Phoebe. I’ll sleep here on the chaise in case you need anything during the night. Mr Harris is taking care of the arrangements.”

  “Thank you Mary.” Phoebe barely had the words out before she was asleep.

  *******

  Two days later, Lady Phoebe and Mary were transported to Pinebrook Manor. Typhus was running rampant in London, and though Phoebe had survived it after her return from Paris, it was wise to get away from the hysteria and sadness that gripped the city. Anyone who could leave was doing so until the disease had run its course.

  Mr Harris, the butler, had indeed made all the arrangements. When the women arrived in the country, Phoebe was delighted and relieved to find the staff had prepared the huge house for their stay.

  The housekeeper, after expressing her condolences, asked to see Lady Phoebe privately.

  “Mrs Crabtree, I have complete confidence in your capabilities. My father has done nothing but rave about them since my mother died. I know you’ve not only done your job but also many of the duties of the lady of the house since then. Now that I’m to be lady of the manor, I’d like to continue with things as they’ve been. That is as long as you don’t find it too taxing. I have no wish to usurp your authority.” Phoebe smiled at the older woman who had always been very kind to her.

  “Not at all, My Lady. I only felt that you would want to take over as mistress.”

  “It’s so overwhelming, Mrs Crabtree.”

  “I’ll do wh
atever pleases you, My Lady. And I have this for you as well.” She handed Phoebe a letter sealed with the crest of the Earl of Portree, Phoebe’s cousin, and her father’s heir.

  “When did this arrive?”

  “This morning, My Lady.”

  “Hmm. Seems he doesn’t have the Carlisle seal ... he’s still using the Portree crest.” Phoebe opened the letter and began to read. “He’s coming from Scotland to claim his inheritance. I don’t think I’d recognize him if he stood up in my soup! I haven’t seen him since I was ten years old. He says he shall be here in a few days’ time. This letter was written the morning after my father’s death. The earl has wasted no time.”

  Phoebe sat in one of the delicate chairs of her tiny sitting room. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers and sighed. “Mrs Crabtree, whatever happens, I want you to know I’ve valued your employment immensely. If the Countess of Portree decides to change things, you will come with me. You, Mr Harris, and Mary. If things change drastically, I can keep only the three of you.”

  “We thought things would change after your dear mother passed, My Lady. But your father said he would never let us go unless that’s what we wanted. Even when he thought to marry again.”

  “I never knew my father thought to marry again. He never said anything about it.”

  “The Duchess of Crosston made a play for your father, My Lady, and the Duke was lonely. She was an audacious woman, quite bewitching many said. The two were close to making marriage arrangements when the lady said she would be replacing the staff here, and in London, with her own people. Your father told her that her staff was more than welcome to mingle with the staff he already had. We would make it work was what he said.” Mrs Crabtree looked up at the portrait of the Duchess Carlisle, so like Phoebe.

  “Your father was a good man. And your mother a sweet, kind woman. If ever two people should have had the chance to grow old together, it was the two of them. When the Duchess Crosston became insistent about changing everything here at Pinebrook, right down to the furnishings, the Duke refused. He put his foot down as firmly as anyone I’ve ever seen. He said no, and he told the Duchess that she was free to leave the engagement if she saw fit. Which, thank Heavens, she did.”

  “My goodness. My father never told me this.”

  “No, and there was never reason for it, My Lady. I repeat it only to instill further in you the knowledge that your father, God rest his soul, was the fairest, kindest, most loyal master any of us have ever known. I will miss him fiercely, but rest easy in the knowledge that he is with your sweet mother in eternity.” The housekeeper smiled. “Will you have a nap here on the chaise? I’ll wake you for dinner, My Lady.”

  “I think I will, Mrs Crabtree. I’m so, so tired. Thank you.”

  When she was alone in the room, Phoebe allowed the tears to flow again. She prayed that Earl Portree, now Duke Carlisle, and his wife would not send those she loved away. She prayed they wouldn’t send her away.

  *******

  A week later, Phoebe was out in the little herb garden behind the great house. The fragrant smelling utility garden had always been her secret place to go. Whenever she was happy, or sad, or just wanting to be alone, she would go down to the kitchen and sneak through the scullery to get to her refuge.

  She was reading a letter from Lord Thomas. She was delighted that he planned to come and visit her. She thought how fun it might be to host a small dinner party and decided she’d ask Mr Harris and Mrs Crabtree about it.

  The back gate squealed with dry hinges, and Phoebe looked up to see Mary entering the garden from the other side through the wilderness. There was a slight pucker between Mary’s eyebrows. “My Lady ... you must come quickly. The Earl is here.”

  “What? But it’s been only a few days. How could they have come so quickly?”

  “I don’t know My Lady, but he ... he’s alone, My Lady.”

  “Alone? He didn’t bring the Countess? How odd.”

  “No, My Lady. There is no Countess.”

  “What do you mean, no Countess?”

  “The Countess is long gone, Lady Phoebe ... dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes. She had an accident and fell down the stairs some three years ago.”

  “I had no knowledge, but it’s not as if all the Sinclair kin are close.”

  “The Duke is in your sitting room, My Lady.”

  “Oh dear. Do I look presentable, Mary?”

  “You always look lovely, My Lady. Here, let me help you.”

  “I don’t want to look lovely. I want to look elegant. Imposing.”

  Mary took Phoebe’s book and the herb basket without another word. The two women made their way back into the house through the scullery and kitchen. Phoebe took a deep breath and headed up the backstairs so she could get to her sitting room more quickly.

  Outside the door she steadied her breath and smoothed her skirt. She forced a smile, turned the handle, and entered the room.

  The new Duke of Carlisle stood and bowed as Phoebe went in. He was tall and imposing and, of a sudden, Phoebe felt tiny and insignificant.

  “Cousin. It is good to see you again, albeit the circumstances.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I thank you for coming.”

  “Ahh. Your Grace. Has a certain ring to it, does it not?”

  Phoebe said nothing.

  The Duke continued undeterred. “I want to go to London to see the townhouse, but that won’t be for a while. I have much business in Edinburgh. I will depart on the morrow.”

  “I see. My father’s former bedchamber is made up and ready for you, Your Grace.”

  “That is kind. And I have some business to discuss with you, dear cousin.” His eyes travelled down her form, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable alone with him in the tiny room with the door closed. She made her way to the bell on the wall and pulled the cord.

  In a moment, Mary knocked lightly and opened the door. She curtsied to Carlisle, “Your Grace,” then she turned her attention to Phoebe, “you rang My Lady?”

  “Yes. Might we have some refreshment? The Duke and I have some, uh, business to discuss. You may leave the door open, Mary.”

  “Very good, My Lady.” Mary’s eyes met Phoebe’s. Then she was gone from the room in a heartbeat. Her brief presence, though, had given Phoebe time enough to gather her wits. And her strength.

  “So, you were saying, Your Grace?” Phoebe took a seat by the fire. The sound of the wood crackling and sparking behind the screen caused her to feel stronger and surer of herself.

  “I may as well come to the point. There’s no use beating around the bush now, is there?”

  “As you wish, Your Grace. What is the point you speak of?”

  “My new estate, of course. I will want to be selling both properties. I have a life in Scotland, dear lady. And I want you to join me there. As my wife. I’ve been alone for some time. My dear Janet being gone from me these three years.”