The Obscure Duchess of Godwin Hall_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “You flatter me, brother,” Andrew replied. But his was not a tone of a man accepting a heartfelt compliment. Nor was Charles’ expression the face of a man who wished to bestow praise upon his brother.

  Rebecca shot a brief glance at Andrew as they turned around and began their way back to the house at a trot. She had never before seen the expression that currently occupied his face. It was an expression of sheer mutiny. The expression of a man who had contained himself for a long time but could hold back no longer.

  Chapter 17

  Caroline was feeling rather wretched.

  Wretchedness was not a feeling with which she was unfamiliar. She had known it many times as a child before she had been taken in by Rebecca’s father. Before then she had scarcely a friend in the world, and there is little like the knowledge that one is completely alone to drive a child into habitual wretchedness.

  She had not enjoyed the ride in the least. Perhaps it was because the idea of going for a ride with Rebecca and the handsome Godwin brothers had seemed so extraordinarily delightful in her mind that the reality could never possibly have measured up to her hopes.

  Perhaps she should have been delighted to have been left with Charles when Rebecca and Lord Andrew galloped away. She had looked at their silhouettes as they rapidly disappeared over the horizon and thought about what romantic figures they seemed, how dashing young Lord Andrew was, and how charming Rebecca looked.

  She had then turned to smile at Charles Godwin, wondering for a second whether anyone who had seen them might have thought them a marvelous-looking couple too. Perhaps they would have seen the two of them and thought that they were a young betrothed pair or a newly married lord and lady.

  But then she had noticed how Charles Godwin looked at her. Or rather, how he did not look at her. How he altered his tone whenever he wanted to know some little bit of information about Rebecca. Then he looked deeply into her eyes and leaned forward and made her feel like she was the most important creature in all the world.

  Do not give in to such foolishness, she told herself sharply. Perhaps a little too sharply. She was not a young woman who was given to luxuries, and dreaming of a fine marriage was the greatest luxury of all for a girl like her.

  She tried to turn the subject of conversation a little, to the prettiness of Godwin Park at this time of year, although truth be told, it was nearly winter and not particularly pretty at all. He had simply responded, “Hmmm? Yes. Marvelous hunting to be had,” and spurred his horse on, clearly eager to catch up with Andrew and Rebecca.

  Trailing behind the truly important people, trying desperately to catch up, was not an unfamiliar experience for Caroline. She knew enough to know that if Rebecca and Andrew had wanted to be caught up with, then they would have lingered longer instead of galloping off into the distance.

  Perhaps Charles was a little like she had been once, and the only difference was that he had yet to learn when he was not wanted.

  She could not resist the temptation to call him ‘Charles’, even if it was just to herself. She envied the way that Rebecca referred casually to ‘Charles’ and ‘Andrew’ as if the rank of Duke meant nothing in the world to her. Caroline could only dream of moving through the world in such a way, behaving as if she had the right to treat great and important people like the Godwins as her equals.

  Thinking of the Duke as ‘Charles’, just secretly, gave her a little piece of that power and confidence, just enough to let her know how little of it she really had in the rest of her life.

  Charles had said that he was not much of a horseman, ‘nowhere near as good as my brother’. She wondered whether he was in the habit of making this comment so that other people would not have the opportunity to make it first.

  However indifferent a horseman he was, however, she was far less adequate. The groom had quickly worked this out and given her the steadiest cob in the Godwin Hall stable to ride, but the thing did not seem to wish to move at all, and frequently stopped to nibble at patches of grass.

  This had the effect of causing them to fall even further behind Rebecca and Lord Andrew, and made Charles even more irate as his own attempts to catch up were thwarted by a sense of chivalry — however grudging — that caused him to stay with Caroline.

  Caroline had to admit that she had found herself a little carried away the previous night.

  Perhaps it was the idea of marriage, which had seemed to thicken the air and flavor the mood ever since they had arrived at Godwin Hall. Perhaps it was the novelty of living day to day in the proximity of two young and handsome men. Whatever it was, it was making Caroline feel a little dizzy, heightening all her emotions until she scarcely knew what was real and what was not.

  Last night, when she had stood on the terrace with Charles, she had been able to convince herself that his apparent interest in her was real. Today, in the light, it had become sufficiently obvious that he only wanted to use her to get closer to Rebecca. Now the question for Caroline was simply — did she much mind being used?

  She was accustomed to being used, after all. Her girlhood and early womanhood had been spent in total devotion to Rebecca, who had always seemed to her the sweetest and most charming of creatures, blessed with every gift that Caroline herself most longed for and therefore endowed with a sort of angelic quality.

  Yet, in recent months, even in the past year, Caroline had felt those feelings toward Rebecca shift. It was not that her feelings toward her friend were no longer sisterly, but rather that they carried some of the added layers and complications that came with a certain kind of sisterliness.

  The last Season, in London, Caroline had begun to dare to hope that she might find a suitor of her own. Perhaps the prospect of meeting a young man should not have been so absurd for her, but in the circles in which the Wintersons moved, it seemed unlikely that she would ever encounter anyone who was even close to her counterpart in rank.

  She had spent most of the balls watching Rebecca dancing and trying not to mind that she had even scarcely been asked to dance at all herself.

  Approximately halfway through the evening of the final ball of the Season, Charles Godwin had emerged from the cards room and made his way around the room. He had scarcely troubled himself to acknowledge the bows and nods around him, so intent was he on finding that which he searched for.

  After a few moments, he had made his way over to Caroline. She suspected that he might have consumed liberal amounts of port.

  “Miss Swanson!” He had bowed to her deeply, perhaps far more deeply than he would have done had he been less intoxicated. “I have come to beg your fair friend’s hand for the quadrille.”

  “Lord Godwin.” She had stood up and bent into the most graceful curtsey she could muster, though the unfortunate truth was that grace had never really come naturally to her. “Rebecca is standing up at present, but I happen to know that her card is full for the evening.”

  It had not been true. But she had said it anyway. She did not suppose that Rebecca would be angry with her for it, after all.

  “Full?” Lord Godwin, or rather, Charles, had stood there silently for a moment, looking very much like an irked child. “It seems I have been too slow to make my request.”

  Caroline did not know how long he was going to stand there, nor how long she would be obliged to continue maintaining her polite smile. But after what seemed like an eternity — and several anxious glances toward the Master of Ceremonies, whom she hoped might intervene and find her a partner — Charles bowed again to Caroline.

  “In that case, Miss Swanson, will you do me the honor of dancing the next with me? Unless, of course, your own card is full.”

  Perhaps Caroline should have refused him then after the veiled snub. Of course, her card was not full, he must have known that perfectly well. But too long watching from the sidelines had given her a kind of desperation, and in that emotion, there was no space for pride.

  “Of course, Lord Godwin. I should be delighted.”

 
A spectator would have remarked that when Caroline Swanson and Charles Godwin stood up, they made an indifferent couple. Charles’ intake of drink had ensured that his bearing was not quite up to his usual gentlemanly standards, and Caroline was feeling far too timid to carry herself to her best advantage.

  But to Caroline, it had not mattered. At that moment, she was standing up at a London ball and dancing with the son of a Duke. Such an honor might have been commonplace to Rebecca, but it was a far rarer thing for Caroline, and she treasured it for months to follow.

  When she was feeling bored or ill-tempered, she had often reminded herself of the feeling of standing up in front of all those people, on the arm of Charles Godwin, the future Duke of Leinster. It had been a little taste of the status that she had seen Rebecca experience for so long, and often brush off impatiently as though it were worth nothing.

  It was always easier to say that things were worth nothing when they were in plentiful supply, and there was no question of their being taken away.

  It was not even that she was so enamored of Charles. Or rather, it was not precisely that. It was simply the pleasure of the idea that a man like Charles could take an interest, however unsustainable, in a woman like her. That she might have some qualities that were worthy of interest.

  “Caroline?”

  She looked up from the book that she was making no true attempt to read. Since they had returned from their ride, Rebecca had clearly been agitated and had made no great effort to settle upon any one occupation.

  She had played a few bars on the pianoforte, attempted to read a little and even made some endeavor at sewing, but it seemed all in vain. Clearly, her friend had something on her mind.

  “Yes dear?” Caroline replied in the same voice that she always used when Rebecca was in one of her frenzies — a calm, unhurried voice, the sort of voice that invited conversation without ever demanding it.

  “I do not know how you can sit so still. I wish I could do so!” Rebecca burst out. Her passion seemed to have possessed her hands, which were clenching and waving wildly about her face.

  “I am rather tired from the ride,” Caroline said softly. It was true, in a sense, though she was less fatigued from the activity than from the strain of keeping her thoughts to herself in such a guarded, scrupulous fashion.

  “I am rather tired from everything!” Rebecca flung herself down onto the chaise lounge with an abandon that most people in London high society would not have associated with the poised and elegant Lady Rebecca Winterson.

  Tired from what? Caroline wondered. Perhaps she is tired from being measured for all the elegant dresses her future husband will give her, or else from riding the splendid horse that her future husband will give her, or walking in the park that she will very soon be mistress of.

  “Well, we have a little time now to rest before we go to take tea with the others,” Caroline said. “Perhaps a little time lying down would refresh you?”

  “I need more than a brief rest, Caroline,” Rebecca said disconsolately. “I need far more than that. I need a reprieve from this marriage.”

  “Well, that I cannot grant you,” Caroline observed, though she hardly needed to have spoken aloud. If there were a word for the mood that had hung over her and Rebecca since they had arrived back at the private sitting room that had been set aside for their purposes, then that word would have been ‘powerlessness’.

  “I know.” Rebecca’s voice was sharp, a little sharper than she would usually have used to speak to her friend. “But I do ask for your sympathy if nothing else.”

  Caroline made no reply. She was not sure what there was that could be said in response to this.

  Chapter 18

  Dinner that night was a subdued affair.

  It was intended to have been something of a celebration, a farewell to Andrew while he went to London, and a toast to the wedding, which was now only a week away. The kitchens had gone to some trouble to prepare a variety of impressive dishes, but these went mostly uneaten. Only Charles did his best to do them justice, and even his heart did not seem to truly be in the task.

  Rebecca even declined the glass of punch that was offered to her, thinking that it was best to refrain from anything that might encourage her to speak her mind too freely after the day that she had.

  It felt to all that it had been the sort of day in which nobody had quite got what they wanted. Andrew was still wearing a stormy expression that was quite unlike any look that Rebecca had ever seen on him before. Charles was as he always was — complacent, too-jovial, a little ruddy.

  The conversation mainly fell between Grandmamma Horatia and Rebecca’s father, who occupied themselves largely with arguing over whether young people were too lavish in their weddings ‘these days’. Grandmamma Horatia thought not, the Earl of Sheffield staunchly insisted that it was so.

  It was not a hugely diverting conversation, but it had the virtue of being lengthy, which meant that none of the young people were much called upon to speak, although Charles often made noises of agreement through mouthfuls of beef.

  As the ladies stood up to retire to the drawing room and the butler brought in the port, Rebecca noticed that Andrew did not remain with the Earl and Charles.

  “I had better go straight up to bed,” he said, by apparent way of explanation to the ladies, although nobody had inquired after his reasoning. “I leave for London very early in the morning.”

  Since it was barely seven of the clock, Rebecca resisted the urge to frown a little at what seemed like an excessive move, even given Andrew’s clearly distracted state of mind. She could hardly blame Andrew for not wishing to sit with his brother and her father and make polite conversation, even if it was to be over port.

  “You will return for the wedding, of course?”

  Andrew bowed, a gesture far more formal than the sort he ever usually offered her.

  “I pray so, madam,” he said. The distance created between the two of them by the word ‘madam’ struck Rebecca like a blow to the face, and it was only thanks to her many years being trained in deportment that she was able to maintain her composure.

  “But the business that I am to attend to on my brother’s behalf is of a very complex nature,” he continued heavily. “I fear there is a strong possibility that it may keep me in town for some weeks, and given its urgency, Charles has made it clear to me that he wishes me to prioritize these interests over my attendance at his wedding.”

  “But are you not to serve as groomsman?” Grandmamma Horatia interjected. She sounded quite horrified. She was an extremely kindly old lady, but she also set a good deal of store in keeping up standards and the idea that one grandson might not attend the other’s wedding clearly troubled her greatly.

  “I hope so, Grandmamma,” Andrew replied. He was not looking at any of them in the eye, and instead fixed his gaze on a portrait of his late father that hung opposite him, at the foot of the main staircase. “I will do everything that is in my power to be at my brother’s wedding.”

  The tone of his voice suggested quite the reverse. Rebecca did not wish to speak in case she betrayed herself, but she could see that, as the bride, it fell to her to pardon Andrew for his absence. With a supreme quantity of effort, she was able to summon a gracious smile.

  “Of course,” she said in response. There seemed little else to say, particularly with Caroline and Grandmamma Horatia standing so close. Finally, she said, “Will you not shake my hand? After all, if you are long in London, we shall be brother and sister next time we meet.”

  Andrew returned her strained smile and barely even grasped her hand before coughing abruptly, excusing himself, and disappearing up the staircase almost at a run.

  Rebecca did not know where to look. Caroline’s face was carefully impassive, and Grandmamma Horatia was gazing up the staircase in the wake of her grandson.

  “If you would excuse me for a few moments, my dears,” she said, “I believe I had better go up to oversee the packing of my grandso
n’s trunks. The manservant can be somewhat careless and I am concerned that he might not have everything that he needs with him.”

  “Of course.” Rebecca nodded. I am relieved that there will at least be one less person to conceal my distress from. Perhaps I too could excuse myself.

  Grandmamma Horatia gave a courteous smile to them both and began to make her way up the staircase after Andrew. Before Rebecca could make any comment to Caroline to excuse herself, however, the door to the dining room opened, and Charles exited.

  “No need to concern yourself, my dear Sheffield,” he called out behind him. “I fear I may have over-eaten just a little. It is rather difficult to restrain oneself when there is such a tempting array of delicacies before one!”

  There was a noise from the dining room which Rebecca recognized as her father’s familiar grunt of rather uninterested assent, and the footman shut the door. I am sure that my father would like nothing better than to be left alone with a glass of port and a good fire, she thought to herself. Charles has nothing to apologize for on that score.