Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Olivia, your services are no longer needed here at Wimpole Street, at Regent Street, St James Street, or the three country manors belonging to my betrothed, the Duke of Atwater. I’ve given you money for the information you gave us about Charlotte Evans. As I stated, we have no further need of your services. Here are your owed wages including today. Thank you.”

  Olivia stood up, manoeuvring herself between Phoebe and the doorway of the sitting room. Phoebe was still seated, and Olivia loomed over her.

  “May I enquire about a letter of reference, My Lady?” Olivia sneered.

  “You may not. That will be all, Olivia.” Phoebe remained seated. She knew the younger woman was trying to intimidate her.

  “You will not give me a reference letter?” Olivia’s voice rose slightly.

  “No. I will not. You have not earned one. Now, that will be all. You are to leave immediately. Good day.”

  The younger woman did not move. Phoebe stayed seated. She casually eyed the desk, looking for something to defend herself with if necessary.

  “Phoebe?” It was Atwater. “Phoebe, love. Where are you?” His voice was getting closer. “Phoebe?”

  Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Good day, indeed. My Lady. You’ll be sorry for this.” And she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

  Phoebe stayed seated a moment longer. “I pray you are not right,” she whispered to herself.

  “Phoebe, my love.” Atwater’s voice sounded again.

  Chapter 11

  Atwater and Phoebe had decided to wait on their nuptials until Mary and Tom were wed. They both wanted Mary lifted out of the serving class as soon as was possible. And her marriage to Tom was the way to do that.

  “My Lady, uh, I mean Phoebe. Will I ever get this right?” Mary dropped her hands into her lap in consternation. “I never realized being a lady, acting like a lady was such hard work. There are so many nuances to every aspect of the position.”

  Mary sat on the sofa in Phoebe’s little sitting room.

  Phoebe smiled, “It’s going to take a little time. You must be patient with yourself. Try to remember all the times you helped me get ready for a ball, or a dinner or tea. You need only put yourself in the place of the one you’ve assisted.”

  “I suppose you’re right. There is so much to remember. It’s so difficult. As a maid it never occurred to me how being a lady is work. A different kind of work, to be sure. But work, nonetheless. I feel like I should be doing something, you know, like setting out your half dress frock, or readying the chocolate and arranging your breakfast tray. I should be busy at all times.”

  “That’s because you’ve been a maid since the age of ten and a lady’s maid since twelve. Now you get to have those things done for you by your own lady’s maid! Oh Mary. It’s so wonderful. You don’t know how many times I’ve been at a party or a dinner and I thought, ‘I wish Mary was here,’ or ‘I wish Mary could see this.’ You’ve always been more like a sister to me, and now ... you practically are my sister.”

  “I feel as if I’m in the middle of a glorious revelry. I don’t want to wake up from it.” Mary looked dreamily at Phoebe.

  “I can’t wait to take you shopping. In fact, let’s go after breakfast. What do you say? You need a whole new wardrobe, you know.”

  “It is exciting, I can’t deny it. To think I’ll have real silk stockings. I still have the pair you gave me at Christmas three years ago. I’ve never worn them. I would take them out now and then and look at them, feeling how soft they were. I even put them on once, but just for a minute. They felt heavenly on my legs.”

  “You shall have as many pairs of silk stockings as you like when you become Mrs Radcliffe. And gloves, shoes, bonnets, and shawls.”

  “Phoebe, you’ve been better to me than anyone I’ve known in my life, save my mother, God rest her soul. You’ve always made sure I had nice things, handing down your dresses to me, or giving me new ones you didn’t fancy after one wearing. And you’ve given me brand new frocks for Christmas and birthdays. I have six morning dresses, five afternoon frocks, three walking dresses, and one evening gown. I have more frocks than any maid I know.” Mary laughed.

  “See? You’ve been a lady-in-waiting all this time. You’ve learned much more than you realize about how to act like a lady, Mary. But what really matters is what’s inside here.” Phoebe tapped lightly on Mary’s sternum. “You have everything within you, already. Everything that a lady strives to attain. It’s as if you, somehow, know intuitively how to behave in any situation you might find yourself.”

  “I’ve had a good teacher in you. And the lessons, well, they’re actually just beginning, are they not?”

  “Speaking of lessons. Come. We’ll take the cabriolet ... I will teach you to drive it. It’s the height of independence. You can go out anytime, anywhere. Jimmy will act as footman on the back, but in that carriage, the passenger drives. It’s most enjoyable. Very freeing! And, you’re about to be married. You need many items!”

  “My goodness, Phoebe, you seem almost more excited by my impending marriage than your own to the Duke.” Mary laughed.

  “La. In all my life it never occurred to me that I would, someday, take a somewhat large leap to the top of the peerage. Being a Duke’s daughter is very different than being a duke’s wife, I’m afraid. My new role as duchess carries an expanded list of proper behaviour and social mores. I admit to being a bit nervous.”

  “We both have studying to do.” Mary nudged her friend’s arm and giggled.

  The ladies walked downstairs and went back to the mews. Jimmy got the cabriolet ready while they waited in the garden.

  “Very good. Your Grace, My Lady. Your carriage is ready.”

  Phoebe gave Mary’s arm a little pinch. Mary looked at her questioningly. A slight nod from Phoebe caused Mary to gather her wits. She smiled. In her most gracious, lady’s voice she spoke, “Ah, thank you. Thank you, Jimmy.” She glanced quickly at Phoebe who smiled.

  The ladies boarded the cabriolet with the groom’s help, and Phoebe took the reins. “Here’s how you begin, Mary.” She touched the whip to the filly’s haunch, and they started off. Phoebe steered along the passageway towards the front of the house explaining her movements to Mary.

  Susan, the newest maid at Wimpole Street, and soon to be Mary’s lady’s maid, ran outside through the area. The cabriolet had already turned onto the cobblestones of the street when Susan hit the curb. She had a letter for Phoebe that had just been delivered from Ireland.

  Susan caught up with the ladies at the intersection. She called to them, and they turned simultaneously. The top of the carriage was down, and Susan rested her hand on the door.

  “Susan! What is it?”

  “A letter, My Lady. I’m sorry to bother you. I suppose it could have waited.”

  “Not at all, Susan. Thank you, dear.” Phoebe took the letter and placed it in her reticule to read later in the evening; Susan went back to the house, and the two friends continued on with their excursion.

  The afternoon was spent visiting many of the same places Phoebe had been to with the imposter Charlotte Evans. The shoppers were making their way down Bond Street when Phoebe brought her hand to her forehead.

  “Are you feeling unwell, My Lady? I’m sorry. Phoebe?”

  “No. I’m fine. I was remembering something.”

  “When you were here before? Shopping with Lady Judith? I mean Charlotte Evans?”

  “Yes. Let’s put her out of our minds, why don’t we? And say a prayer for Judith, the actual Lady Judith who has seemingly disappeared. I know it worries Robert not to know what happened to her. I haven’t said so, but I believe she might be dead, from illness or worse.”

  “Worse? What do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t put much past Charlotte. Or Olivia for that matter. Those two are as heinous as any confidence man I’ve ever heard about.”

  “Are you saying that you think something untoward may have taken place?”

&n
bsp; “Are you asking if I think Lady Judith may have been murdered? I’m saying I believe it’s a possibility. Consider Charlotte’s plan. It was a long term endeavour. She wanted to marry His Grace and presumably have children to further instate herself. I believe she’ll stop at nothing once she sets her sights on something.”

  Mary gasped, her lace gloved hand going to her mouth to cover it. “Oh no. Do you really think Charlotte is that ruthless?”

  “Unfortunately, yes I do. Where can Lady Judith be? She’s virtually disappeared. No one has seen her, and we’ve been told that mother died of illness on their European tour. That’s the story we’ve been given.”

  “It’s all just so awful. But we mustn’t be so cynical. We can’t be so suspicious. There’s got to be some kind of explanation. It’s not for us to make judgements.”

  “It’s difficult not to, Mary. I agree the whole situation is awful. But it’s also peculiar when you really think about it. Charlotte disappeared when it was found out she’d been impersonating Lady Judith. If Judith had been alive ... Charlotte would never have been able to pull off her ruse as long as she did. Oh la. I will stop now. My head just goes around and around with it. But I will say that even Robert thinks Judith must be dead. But, let us get started on our afternoon. This instant. We’re shopping for your trousseau. I will not put a damper on our entire afternoon.”

  “No, but everything you say is food for thought, Phoebe. We know Lady Judith was alive in Seville.” Mary said no more.

  *******

  Atwater sat with Lord Thomas and Duke Carlisle at Brooks’s. The Scotsman seemed happy enough to unload Phoebe’s English properties on the two men. It had the effect of causing his desire to drink more brandy to expand. He poured another glass.

  “Now, surely you’ll give Tom a better price than that, Your Grace.” Atwater despised the Duke who was, at the moment, trying to get 2500 pounds for the Wimpole Street townhouse.

  “Come now, Your Grace. I am a businessman above all things.” Carlisle leered.

  Lord Thomas supplied, “I will take the place as it is. If it needs repairs of any sort, I will take them over.”

  Carlisle rolled his eyes and slurped his brandy.

  “Duke Carlisle, my friend Lord Thomas here, has always admired the Wimpole Street house. Now that it’s to be sold, he wants to begin his married life in it and watch his family grow in it.”

  “How nostalgic. How positively, touching.” Carlisle examined his snuff box, opened it, and scooped up a bit of the powder with his pinkie fingernail. “Twenty-five hundred,” he barked and brought the pinkie to his nose.

  “You certainly drive a hard bargain, Your Grace. I suppose there’s nothing more one can say to persuade you to come down, somewhat, in price. Will you accept half of the full amount now and half in one month’s time?”

  “This is nonsense, Tom. We will not negotiate, Duke Carlisle. Your asking price is not acceptable. You have no sale, Your Grace. Good Day to you. Tom. Let us leave now.”

  “But Robert.”

  “Shush.” Atwater stood and turned his back on Carlisle, who appeared to be ignorant of what had just taken place.”

  “W-wait. Gentlemen.” Carlisle’s mouth widened to a garish grin. His voice softened to a wheedling tone. “Maybe, ah, maybe I can make an exception. Just this one time, you know. Since we’re practically kin.”

  Atwater turned slightly. “I’m listening, Your Grace.”

  “I’d be willing to come down, just a little mind you, in price. Of course, I would ask that I be recompensed in some way.” He finished his brandy and poured another.

  “And in what way would this compensation materialize? What do you have in mind, Your Grace?”

  “A, a maid perhaps? That little Susan my cousin employs. I can think of many good uses for a young lady such as she is.” He raised his eyebrows and took another pinch of snuff.

  “You’re suggesting I sell you my fiancée’s maid for a reduction of the sale price on Wimpole Street? Why you …” Before Atwater or Carlisle knew it, Tom had pulled the Duke, by the front of his shirt, out of the chair he’d been sitting on. Carlisle was pushed up against the expensively papered wall, Tom’s hand encircling his neck keeping him pinned, feet dangling. Atwater went to the pocket doors of the lounge and pulled them closed.

  Carlisle looked over Tom’s shoulder at Atwater. “Uh, please gentlemen. There, there must be a solution to our dilemma.”

  “Will you come down in price or no? That’s the offer we’re making. You can come down in price, no maid to take back to Scotland. Or.” Atwater stopped for effect.

  “Or? What?” Carlisle sputtered. He looked very frightened. Just the way Tom and Atwater wanted him to look. “Or what,” Carlisle choked out.

  “Or, I suppose you shall suffer the consequences, Your Grace.” Tom’s face was leaned in a mere half inch from the Duke’s.

  “I will alert every newspaper in London and Edinburgh,” Carlisle spat through clenched teeth.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Atwater stated with finality.

  Tom released Carlisle, and the Duke fell to the floor. He stumbled to regain his composure and stood, his hand rubbing the front of his neck where his cravat tie had pressed into his throat.

  “Now. I, as Lord Thomas’s lawyer, have written up a bill of sale.” Atwater spoke as if nothing untoward had just taken place, “The Wimpole Street House will be sold, as is, to Lord Thomas Radcliffe for the cost of 1500 pounds. You will sign the document, Your Grace. Now.”

  “That’s highway robbery, you … you cad. You have no sense of decorum. You are not a gentleman for all that I must refer to you as Your Grace.” Carlisle downed another glass of his brandy and reached for a pen while grumbling under his breath. “Highway robbery.”

  “It is nothing of the sort, Your Grace. It is business.” Tom sneered at the Duke. “I am a businessman above all.”

  “And while we’re at it. I’m prepared to offer you 3000 for Pinebrook Manor. Not a penny more,” Atwater countered.

  “You might persuade me to sell cheap on the London house, but the country estate? Never. It’s 4000 pounds or no sale.”

  “Very well. Tom?”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Let us go.”

  “Have you finished your business? I thought you had a mind to have Pinebrook Manor.” Tom looked confused.

  Atwater grabbed Tom’s arm. “Dan is waiting.” They left the lounge and went to the mews.

  “Robert? What was that? I thank you heartily for securing the sale of the townhouse, but what about Pinebrook Manor? I thought you wanted it for Phoebe. Will you not negotiate with the man about it?”

  “He’ll come around.”

  “What makes you so sure? Do you think we scared him that much?”

  “Yes, I do. But I have also secured a promise from each person Carlisle will approach to sell the estate to. No one will buy the place, even if he comes down in price.”

  “You’ve secured promises from people not to buy Pinebrook? How do you know the men involved will stand by their word?”

  “Let’s just say that while I don’t indulge in the ton’s favourite pastime of gossip, I hear many things. And I happen to have information, which I’ve verified, about the shenanigans of each man I spoke with regarding the matter. Damaging information.”

  “That sounds like a possible way to get yourself killed, Robert.”