Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Still, she’d come to London. If the current Lady Judith was indeed Charlotte Evans, it took a certain boldness to look into the eyes of those Judith was supposed to have known since childhood.

  After the deaths of his father and brother, Judith had rallied around Atwater. She was the good cousin. The comforting shoulder. And she’d made it clear that she wanted him back. Then for some reason, a sense of duty, or maybe to stop tongues from wagging, he’d decided to marry her. Or was the real reason that he’d hoped to find his Judith again?

  His mind turned to Phoebe. He knew she thought ill of him. She had believed the imposter Judith from the very start. That was upsetting to him, but still he couldn’t let Phoebe be taken away to Scotland.

  If there was a chance the maid from the house on St James was telling the truth, Atwater knew he couldn’t let Phoebe go to Scotland, And even if what the maid from the Bennington townhouse said was not true, he wouldn’t let Phoebe go to Scotland.

  If the lady who was claiming to be his cousin, Lady Judith, was truthful or lying, Atwater realized it didn’t matter. He was in love with Phoebe. He knew that now.

  “Regent Street, Your Grace.” The cab driver hopped down from the box and opened the door for Atwater.

  “Thank you, good man.” Robert smiled and handed the man payment for the ride and a little extra.

  “Why, thank you, Your Grace. This’ll buy the wife some flowers and a flagon of wine. I thank you, Your Grace.” And the driver bowed.

  Atwater put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “And I thank you, sir.” He walked towards the area feeling the good blessings the man was sending his way. He hoped they worked.

  *******

  The library was Atwater’s favourite room in the house. Tom knew this, and Atwater was sure that’s where he would be with Phoebe and Mary. He strode down the hall and into the opulent room which seemed to boast no actual walls. There were shelved books from floor to ceiling, and in the candlelight there were many eerie shadows.

  He went straight to Phoebe. “My Lady. Are you well?”

  Phoebe’s face showed the strain of the last weeks. Her blue eyes were not as bright as usual, and they hovered over dark shadows underlying them. The bones of her cheeks jutted out, giving her the appearance of an otherworldly being. Her figure had become thinner. He thought she needed to be in the country where she could escape some of the strain she’d been enduring.

  Phoebe looked up into Atwater’s eyes. “I’m fine, Your Grace.” And then she fainted in his arms.

  “My Lady.” Mary went to the couple. “Your Grace, is there a bedchamber we may use? I fear my mistress is exhausted.”

  “Yes, Mary. Follow me.” He lifted Phoebe as if she weighed no more than a feather and started for the stairs. Tom, for his part, remained in the library and poured himself another cognac.

  They entered the bedchamber. It was cosy and cheerful, with a huge four poster bed against the opposite wall, a sizeable fireplace, a chaise and a vanity. A narrow hall led to the sitting room beyond. Atwater placed Phoebe gently on the bed.

  “Mary, I’ll leave you now. If you are in need of anything, please see Terence. He has access to everything. He will get you what you need. There are items in the clothes press that you are both welcome to use. Tomorrow, I plan to go to Wimpole Street and see to Duke Carlisle.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. And have you given any thought to the story of Lady Judith?”

  “I’ve given it as much thought as has been possible to give it since you shared it.”

  “I meant not to worry you, Your Grace. But, I knew you planned on marrying the lady. Forgive my audacity, but I thought you should know.”

  Atwater looked long and hard at Mary. “There is no possibility that I wouldn’t know you had your mistress’s, mine, or even Tom’s best welfare in mind, Mary.” He noticed she looked down when he mentioned Tom. “My trust in you and your loyalty is sincere and strong. Never fear.”

  “I thank you heartily, Your Grace.”

  “Now, put your mistress to bed, please. I’ll have Terence ask Cook to leave some supper brought up for you. Then you shall stay in this chamber with Lady Phoebe. I can have another bed brought into the room.”

  “Oh no, Your Grace. I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll eat in the servants’ hall. I can sleep on the chaise. I do so often at Wimpole Street.”

  Atwater smiled. “Very well then. Sleep on the chaise, but I’ll still have supper sent up. I’d prefer if Lady Phoebe weren’t left alone. Mind you eat something before you go to sleep.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. Thank you.” She curtsied.

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  Atwater left the room and headed back down to the library.

  “How is everything, Robert?”

  “I suppose everything is under control for the moment. A lying lady’s maid posing as a lady, a Duke who’s clearly lost his mind to drink. His plan was to kidnap Phoebe and keep her prisoner at his family’s ancestral castle in the Highlands. It’s lucky Mary alerted us.”

  “Yes, it is. But you can’t keep her here, Robert. No chaperone? Tonight is one thing. One night can be kept quiet. But you know the ton. They’ll tear Phoebe to shreds if she stays here for longer than a night with no elderly female chaperone.”

  “She’ll be returned to Wimpole Street as soon as possible, but not until Carlisle has left. I’ll visit him tomorrow morning to explain that Phoebe will be my wife. I’ll make it clear his attentions towards her are undesirable.”

  “That’s where I come in and buy the Wimpole Street house, with your permission of course, Your Grace. I’ve a need to break away from my family for a while. And I’ve always fancied that townhouse.”

  “You could rent the house. I don’t know if my future wife wants to sell.” Atwater laughed.

  “Robert!” Tom slapped his friend on the back.

  Atwater looked at Tom.

  “Do you really plan to marry Lady Phoebe?”

  “Yes. Tom. If she’ll have me. To the dogs with convention and the ton and the gossip mongers. I’m going to follow my heart. And whether Lady Judith is real or not, I don’t wish to make her my wife. Actually, I don’t wish to be anywhere near her.”

  “But what if Judith starts another rumour?”

  “She can do whatever she pleases. I no longer care. And as for the ton, I’ve never cared for their approval. It was difficult to weather their contempt, but it was somewhat different when my father was living. I am Duke Atwater now ... I have no need to explain myself, or my actions, to the ton. They can all go to the Devil.”

  “Here. Here. Your Grace.” Tom applauded him, and Robert bowed low with a flourish.

  “Shall we have a cigar, Tom?” Atwater opened his smoking cabinet.

  “Let us, Your Grace. And while we’re bearing our souls, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Your devil-may-care attitude has emboldened me to share a matter of the heart with you.”

  *******

  Phoebe woke in the late morning. Bright sunshine was streaming in the windows. For an instant, she didn’t know where she was and feared she might be in Edinburgh. She looked towards the chaise for Mary, and seeing her nowhere, fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She remembered coming to Regent Street in the dead of night. She’d slept well, but she was still thoroughly exhausted. She aimed to have a bath when she was back at Wimpole Street in the afternoon.

  The thought of Wimpole Street made her nervous. Would Carlisle be gone? She didn’t want to go back there if he was still in residence. But she couldn’t stay here, at Lord Robert’s home. Not even with Mary. Mary was a servant, not an elderly lady relative acting as chaperone. The ton would be scandalized if word got out. And word would get out. There had to be at least one other female member of the peerage on the premises for the arrangement to be acceptable. But that meant she couldn’t go home either ... not if Carlisle was there. Phoebe decided that if gossip was to be had, she’d rather her name linked with Duke
Atwater than with Duke Carlisle.

  The clattering of hooves, down on the street, came to her ears, and the door burst open. Mary brought in a pot of chocolate and some dainty biscuits.

  “Good morning, My Lady. I hope you have some appetite.” She smiled.

  “I do. At least I feel as if I could eat and not worry about it coming back up.”

  “Very good, My Lady.” The maid placed the tray on the bed and poured a cup of chocolate.

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  “You’re most welcome, My Lady.”

  “Is His Grace about?”

  “His Grace is on the way to Wimpole Street to tell Duke Carlisle that you are his betrothed. He’s going to tell the Duke that he must go back to Scotland today. He’s going to tell Duke Carlisle to leave you alone or beware of the consequences.”

  “No! Why ever would he do that? If anyone were to hear, the ton, you know. They’d spread the word far and wide. He’s taking a chance telling Carlisle such a fib. I would hate to see him in more trouble than he is. Why is he being so kind to us?”

  “Perhaps His Grace wants to protect you, My Lady. Perhaps he has feelings for you.”

  “Nonsense. He’s going to marry Lady Judith.”

  “My Lady, do you forget all that we spoke of yesterday?”

  “No, I do not. And I expressed to you that I want to speak to Olivia. Have you been able to get a message to her? Can she come to Wimpole Street at dinnertime?”

  “My Lady, I’ve been unable to get in touch with her. It requires me to leave the house and walk to St James’s Square. I cannot be seen coming or going from here.”

  “Oh Mary, I’m sorry. I’m putting pressure on you. I’m just so confused. I don’t know who knows who, who loves who or who hates who. Or, for that matter, who is who. But I would like to talk with Olivia. In fact, I’d like her to address both His Grace and myself.”

  “My Lady, I believe His Grace Lord Robert is summoning Olivia as well.”

  “And you really stand in her corner, Mary? She’s not making up a story with some, some ulterior motive?”

  “No My Lady. Olivia is quite trustworthy.”

  “In a few days, when we are both caught up with our rest, we will speak to her. You and I.”

  “Very good, My Lady.

  *******

  Atwater walked through the front door of Wimpole Street. He found Carlisle where he’d left him in the drawing room. A dank smell surrounded him, and Atwater realized that the Duke had wet himself due to inebriation. The belladonna probably hadn’t helped. Atwater smiled to himself wryly. He would find Carlisle’s man who could get the Duke cleaned up. Atwater could come back later.

  He left the room. He was tempted to go to the club, but he knew if he did, he’d spend too much and drink too much. It was eleven in the morning. He’d had his customary ale at breakfast, a habit he’d picked up from spending as much time in the country as possible since he was a boy. It was getting near to dinner.

  He walked down to the ground floor. Mrs Crabtree was having a cup of tea in the servants’ hall.

  “Excuse me, Mrs Crabtree.”

  Startled the woman looked up quickly, and then nearly fell over backwards in her effort to stand so she could curtsy to him.

  “Your Grace. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Thank you, Mrs Crabtree. Will you find Duke Carlisle’s man? His Grace is in the drawing room and appears to be in need of a bath, perhaps.” He smiled as Mrs Crabtree nodded in conspiratorial agreement. “I will wait in the sitting room if that’s acceptable.”

  “Oh, quite acceptable, Your Grace. Quite acceptable, indeed. I will have tea sent up.”

  “I thank you.” Atwater gave Mrs Crabtree a slight bow that nearly caused her to swoon.

  *******

  Two hours later, Atwater, partially reclined on the settee in the sitting room, had fallen asleep. He was rudely awakened by a loud voice and the pounding of polished boots on the wooden stairs.

  “What do you mean, Your Grace, coming here, to my home, unannounced? Unannounced!”

  Atwater opened one eye, and deeming it safe to converse with Carlisle, opened the other one. Without bothering to remove or rise up his person from the settee, he said, “Your Grace.”

  “Stand up you lout. And where is my woman?”

  “Your. Woman?”

  “Lady Phoebe. Where have you taken her? I can have the law on you in a matter of minutes.”

  “The law? Surely you jest, Your Grace.”

  “Kidnapping is a crime, Your Grace.”

  “Then you should fear the law, Your Grace.” Robert spat the words. “You intended to kidnap my betrothed and take her to the Highlands. I’ll not have it.” Robert was somewhat amused at Carlisle’s condescending attitude, especially considering the state Carlisle had been in only two hours earlier.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “What do I mean about you fearing the law?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Your Grace. I speak of Phoebe. Your betrothed? Surely, it’s you who jest. Why you are not received in many of the fashionable homes of London. Edinburgh is not so far away that we do not get our share of society gossip, Your Grace.”

  Atwater pointedly rolled his eyes. “Lady Phoebe is to be my wife. There is no discussion to be had about it except for this. My terms for the loss you incur at losing your, how did you put it? Your woman? I have buyers for both of your inherited properties ... this townhouse, and Pinebrook Manor.”

  “You mean to buy Lady Phoebe from me?”

  “Lady Phoebe is not yours to sell, Your Grace. Now, by tomorrow I expect you to be gone from London. And if ever you are here, or we are at the same social engagement, you are not to contact Lady Phoebe. You are not to speak to Lady Phoebe. Nor myself? Do I make myself clear?”

  Carlisle’s mouth opened to speak but no sound came out His eyes held a shocked look like a spoiled child’s the first time he’s told no. “I’ll not have it. You cannot take my future wife from me.”

  “She is not, nor has she ever been your future wife, Carlisle.”

  “I said I will get the law on you, and I will. Harris,” he yelled.

  Harris came to the doorway of the sitting room. Atwater caught his eye, nodding almost imperceptibly. Harris slid back out the door and waited in the hall in case Atwater had need of him.

  Atwater responded, “I know the law, Your Grace. I am a lawyer ... you must know I never expected to be Duke of Atwater. And something I can tell you, in all surety is you have no case against me. None whatsoever. Additionally, you have no claim on Lady Phoebe. She is not part of your inheritance, Your Grace. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see myself out.” And here Atwater held his face very close to Carlisle’s ear. “Mind my words, Carlisle. Leave London. Leave no later than tomorrow.”

  “Hrrmph.” Carlisle shrugged. “No later than tomorrow, eh? And what, pray tell is to happen if I choose not to leave by tomorrow, Your Grace?

  “I’ll see to it that you wish you had.” Atwater walked out of the sitting room leaving Carlisle slack jawed and seething with rage. He exited the house through the area and walked back to the mews where Dan was waiting with the cabriolet. The groom handed Atwater the reigns and mounted the board in the back.