Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “No, Charlotte. We, neither of us, were invited. I got away with it by flitting here and there, dancing with young men I’d never seen before and walking in the garden behind the house. They know you impersonated Lady Judith.”

  “Yes, thanks to you.”

  “I did what I had to do. Surely you understand that.”

  “It makes no difference now. What matters is no one asked you to leave. Brava! Did I not tell you that you could easily pass for a lady? Like myself ... half the continent knew me to be Lady Judith Barton, daughter of the late Earl of Bennington. Who did you say you were? How did you get in the front door? Wasn’t that odious Terence fellow there with a list of the invited?”

  “He was, which is why I went in through the area. The staff was so busy in the kitchen and servants’ hall with the refreshments no one noticed me. As for the men I danced with, I said I’d recently come back to London after my grand tour. I asked them many questions and let them talk. I learned a great deal about the inner workings of the ton. At the end of each dance, when the gentlemen thanked me and went off to get me a glass of sherry or ratafia, I would leave the area never having given my name. I spent much time dodging would-be suitors. It was quite interesting. If I’d been in a maid’s uniform, not a one would have noticed me. But they thought me to be a lady. Now I understand why you took over Lady Judith’s persona.”

  “I’m surprised it’s taken you nearly a year to figure it out.”

  “I never thought to have a chance at being a lady, Charlotte. I come from two generations of servants. I never knew anything about portraying myself as something I’m not.”

  “It’s a work in progress. You did it in London. Imagine how easy it is in Spain or France.”

  “I’d need to plan it if I imagined it. And if I had a plan, nothing could keep me from it.”

  “Speaking of plans, I have a plan for us, Olivia. A way for us to become ladies. We can then go to Paris or Rome or back to Seville. Maybe we’ll take our own tour. We’ll buy fine clothes and eat wonderful foods. But ... you must obey me to the letter. Is that clear? If I count on you, you mustn’t let me down. For this to work, you must be in total agreement with everything I say and do, and everything I tell you to say and do. Is that understood? I repeat myself. You must not let me down.”

  “I won’t. I will not let you down, Charlotte. What is your plan? Tell me what I need to do. What I need to say. I want to be a grand lady.”

  “I haven’t thought of every detail yet, but basically we, you and I, are going to kidnap Lady Phoebe.”

  Olivia gasped. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Charlotte.”

  “And you want to be a grand lady? You expect me to believe you when you already begin to disagree with my plan? You don’t even know what it is yet.”

  “Charlotte. That’s very dangerous. Kidnap? Lady Phoebe will be a Duchess soon. That’s almost royalty. Her family is in the four hundred. Charlotte. Come to your senses. Besides, what would the ransom demand be? The money would need to be in coin. And it would be only a matter of time before the army would come after us.”

  “I am perfectly in my senses.” A sound came from the other side of the cheap hotel room the women were renting. “There, there.” Charlotte went towards the sound and lifted the newborn infant from his cradle. “My demand will not be for money and will be given by word of mouth message to His Grace, Duke Atwater. My ransom demand will ask for something worth much more than some silver crowns.”

  “I’m not following your train of thought. What do we need more than money?”

  “Surely you jest, Olivia. A woman desires permanent security. The kind of security that can only be gotten when one is attached to a man.”

  “Well, we need to marry if we want that. And we must marry up like Mary did. I was so angry when I heard about her and Lord Thomas.”

  “Olivia! You are the one who needs to come to your senses. Lord Thomas is a married man now. And he would never have been interested in you as more than a passing dalliance as it were. You are a servant.”

  “But Mary was raised up. I know Lord Thomas is off limits to me, but there are many single men of means.”

  “Then get one to keep you, girl. Women like us don’t have many options. Unless, of course, we are thought to be ladies. Think again of how nicely you were treated at the wedding parties. The young men thought you to be in their class. Women, in general, don’t have myriad options. If you want to be taken care of, best to look into a nunnery. You can find a rich protector. Or, you can seduce a male visitor in your place of employ and be removed to a place of his choosing. To think you could have your own suite of rooms at a comfortable hotel. Not a chamber like this one where you can hear everything the neighbours are doing. Or you can impersonate a lady. And for that we must create a pedigree.” She lowered her voice, seeming to be reminded that she and Olivia might be heard discussing the awful plan.

  “So then, how did Mary have such good luck?”

  “Something always set her apart. Did you never see it? I noticed it. She uses fine words; she dresses simply, but well. Mary, is a slight cut above. She’s trained as a lady’s maid. She’s seen no real labour. I daresay she’s never carried a coal scuttle.” She patted the baby’s back and cooed. “We waste our time speaking of these things. First, we need money to pay for this hole, and to get two simple, yet quality, frocks made for each of us. We cannot find domestic work if we look poor and unkempt. We are domestics after all, not street walkers.”

  “But we need money to acquire frocks. La! It’s a vicious circle.”

  “Which brings me back to my plan of abducting the lovely-soon-to-be Duchess Atwater. The wedding is to take place next week. You will appear there as you did at the nuptials of Lord Thomas and, oh dear, I reckon we must call her Lady Mary.” She made a face of disdain much to Olivia’s amusement.

  “What is your strategy?”

  “You’ll see.” She touched noses with her baby boy as she spoke. “You’ll see. You’re angry at Lady Mary. But that’s just jealousy. The true culprit is Lady Phoebe. She put a foil on my plans to marry Atwater. I could have gone on indefinitely as Lady Judith. Even if the truth ever became known, it would be too late. The Duke could never put me aside and keep his honour. It’s Phoebe’s fault you and I are in this predicament. She’s left us with no money, no clothing, very little chance of employment. I’ll have to forge letters of reference. You did tell the lady she would be sorry for letting you go, did you not?”

  “That I did. And, at the time, I meant it.”

  “Nice touch. She will be sorry. I’ll see to it that they are all sorry.”

  “I wasn’t talking about bodily harm or kidnapping, Charlotte. I sought only to make Lady Phoebe nervous. So tell me what your plan is Charlotte. I … I don’t know if I can in good faith take part in such a nefarious scheme.”

  “Very well, I will share my plan with you. But you have no choice but to take part in my plan.”

  “If I feel it crosses certain, uh, boundaries. I will not participate.”

  Charlotte smiled at Olivia. The smile turned into a simper, then a giggle until, finally, laughter that caused tears emitted from Charlotte’s body. “As I said, we are to abduct Lady Phoebe. You have no say as to whether or not you take part.” She placed the now sleeping infant back in the cradle. “You, my dear, are in.”

  “I haven’t heard the entire plan.”

  “We’ll bring Phoebe here. But not to this room. We’ll keep her in the cellar.”

  “Charlotte, I have some second thoughts about this. Showing up at parties to make someone uncomfortable is one thing. What you’re talking about is a very serious endeavour. An undertaking I daresay holds a very serious consequence if found out.”

  “You have no choice, Olivia.” Charlotte stepped over to the table where some bread and cheese sat waiting to be supper. She picked up the knife that rested near the bread. “I discovered the room when you were at the wedding the other day. There was o
nce a wine cellar down below this building. Apparently, this was a grand home at one point or an upscale hotel with a restaurant like the kind they have in Paris.” She fondled the knife and walked over to where Olivia sat on the bed.

  “A wine cellar?”

  “Yes. It’s a room where the wine is aged and stored. Only the very rich have them.” She traced Olivia’s jawline with the tip of the knife. “Of course, the wine room here is partially hidden behind a stone wall that was built at a later time. There are still huge barrels on the stone floor and many bottles, all dusty and smudged line the shelves. I brought a few of the bottles up. I thought you and I might share a toast. We’ll see if the stuff is any good.” She took the knife away from Olivia’s face and tossed it onto the table.

  “I hope we understand each other, Olivia.”

  “Let us have a toast to the success of your plan.”

  “Yes. That’s more like what I expected from you. Remember, you will benefit from my plan also.”

  “And what will you demand for the ransom. If you’re not asking for money ... what will you demand?”

  “Oh, you will see. You will see.” Charlotte smiled.

  “I don’t follow. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to understand what I’m talking about. The only thing you need to understand is that our plight is the fault of Lady Phoebe. And if you go against me in this …”

  “I won’t go against you.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful news, Olivia. You know I got rid of that deadbeat Jacob after he robbed the bank for me. To get him to rob the bank ... well, sometimes we women have to rely on desperate measures. The man wanted to believe I was his woman. He wanted me. Well, now I am a widow, as far as anyone knows ... it takes the stigma away. You and I will play lady widow and lady’s maid. And my son here. My darling little Robert, will soon meet his rightful papa.”

  “No! Charlotte! I mean, surely there must be another way.”

  “Do you not see, Olivia? My son can be a Duke someday ... provided Lady Phoebe doesn’t give birth to a boy anytime soon. Once Duke Atwater claims my son as his own to get his wife back, I will kill Phoebe. Or you will. I may just need that kind of proof from you. Proof that you will keep my plan secret forever.

  Then I will marry the Duke after Phoebe’s body is found. The Thames will be at low tide. Poor thing. A victim of suicide. You will be my lady’s maid whom I will raise up to marry one of the peerage. Just as Lady Phoebe raised Mary.”

  “You’re talking about murder, Charlotte. I didn’t know your plan was going to include that.”

  “Do you want to be a rich lady someday, Olivia? Or not? You must do what needs to be done, just as I must.”

  “I couldn’t kill someone.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told. Or you’ll be the one who’s dead. Do you understand me?”

  Olivia swallowed hard. “Yes, My Lady.”

  Chapter 13

  The day had arrived. Mary assisted Phoebe as she dressed for her wedding. Her white gauze dress, embroidered with silver, fell in a diaphanous cascade of shirred fabric.

  “You look so beautiful, Phoebe. And so happy. This is truly a wonderful day.”

  “Yes. We are so very blessed, Mary.”

  “Are you ready, My Lady?” Mary asked for old time’s sake.

  Phoebe squeezed her friend’s hand. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” Mary still held Phoebe’s hand as they descended the stairs and went into the parlour. The milling guests had quieted and assembled and Atwater stood by the mantle waiting for his bride. Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears as he smiled at her with gentle love.

  The ceremony was short and lovely. Before Phoebe knew it, she was being addressed as Your Grace, and gentlemen were lining up to dance with her.

  She was being twirled around the room, laughing at the compliments her partner paid her, when she caught a glimpse of something. She jerked her head only to see the slip of lilac disappear behind some revellers.

  “Your Grace. Are you unwell? Allow me to escort you to a seat. Would you like some ratafia?”

  “Hmm? Ah, yes ... yes, please. That would be lovely. And might I impose on you to locate my husband and send him to me here?” Phoebe sank down onto one of the sofas that were placed in strategic nooks behind huge potted plants.

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” The young man bowed and walked away.

  Phoebe frantically looked here and there. Maybe she’d imagined it. Still, no amount of slow, deep breathing would calm her nerves. La, where was Atwater? Her dance partner returned with her ratafia, but not her husband.

  “I’ve been unable to locate Duke Atwater, Your Grace.”

  “Fine. He’ll be here shortly. If I know him at all, he’s enjoying a cigar in the library.” She snapped her fan open and laughed a bit too shrilly.

  After a bit of small talk, Phoebe dismissed the gentleman, releasing him to go and find another partner. She took a sip of her beverage and placed the glass on the tiny table next to where she sat. Regent Street. Her new home. She sat back, comfortable and happy but for the anxious thoughts she that flitted in and out of her brain.

  It had been typical wedding jitters that had put her on edge this morning from the moment she’d woken up. She perused the dancers, enjoying the multi-coloured gowns and the new hairstyles the ladies wore.

  And then she saw what she thought she’d seen earlier. A frock of lilac silk. The frock made its way towards her. The face above was familiar and laughing, presumably, at Phoebe’s look of consternation.

  Walking towards her was none other than Olivia McGowan. Olivia who hadn’t been invited to the party. Indeed, until Mary’s wedding, Phoebe thought Olivia had left London for good.

  “Your Grace.” Olivia curtsied. “Might I congratulate you on your nuptials? You look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe spoke through clenched teeth. “What are you doing here?” So as not to make a scene, Phoebe spoke as quietly as she could without leaning into Olivia’s ear.

  “Why I came to wish you congratulations.”

  “Fine. Thank you. Now, I will ask you to leave this house at once.”

  “And if I don’t?” Olivia smiled sweetly and glanced around the room. “Come now, Your Grace, you wouldn’t want a scene. You know how the peerage talks.”

  “I will have you escorted quietly out. Do not try me, Olivia.” Phoebe sounded stronger than she felt.

  “Do not try me, Your Grace,” Olivia nearly spat, all illusions of decorum abandoned. “I came here to wish you well, even after the way you treated me. You will live to rue this, do you hear me? You will soon lose your high and mighty ways.”

  “If you mean to threaten me, or frighten me, it will not work. Now, you will leave.” Phoebe scanned the room and spied Terence standing in one of the doorways to the large room. He was watching and was immediately with them at Phoebe’s slight nod.

  “Right this way, girl. You are to exit through the area. I will see you there myself.”

  “Take your paws off of me,” Olivia wrenched her arm from Terence’s grasp.

  “And I will thank you to keep your voice down. Do you understand me, girl? You don’t fool me with your expensive frock.” Terence ushered her downstairs. Olivia said nothing.

  Terence scowled at Olivia just before he slammed the servants’ door. “I trust never to see you back here, Miss McGowan. If you are seen again, the colonel will be called, and you will be taken from this house by members of His Royal Highness’s army.”