Claiming the Heart of a Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 1)

by Arietta Richmond

  And with that, Hunter left the room, pretending not to hear Charles’ muffled guffaw.

  A week later, Hunter was regretting his decision. The house party was proving more than uncommonly flat, he sorely missed the Hounds, none of whom had been invited, and the renewed onslaught of marriageable young Ladies, with their hovering mamas, was beginning to grate on his nerves. The way that they looked at him made him develop a sudden sympathy for the horses on show at Tattersall’s.

  Adding to his discomfort, Nerissa was there, always surrounded by both calf eyed young gentlemen and knowing, jaded rakes, all vying for her attention.

  She sparkled, like the diamond of the first water that she was - she flirted, she laughed, she danced and she seemed dusted with some magic powder that made everybody fall under her enchantment.

  Lost in his thoughts, Hunter did not realise that his mother was approaching, towing behind her one of her favourite ‘suitable young ladies’, Lady Phoebe Burnside.

  Hunter thought she was a singularly silly girl and, even if she was quite pretty, Hunter feared she would grow to resemble her mother, a wilting lily of indeterminate age, clad in layer upon layer of pale gauze, which gave her a disquietingly ghostly appearance.

  “Hunter!” trilled Lady Melton.

  “What are you doing here, brooding in this dark corner? Come over to the drawing room, we have prevailed upon Lady Phoebe to sing for us. She has a wonderful voice and she plays the pianoforte with such a delicate touch…”

  Lady Phoebe smiled at the handsome Duke, looked at him from half lowered lashes and put a tremulous hand on his sleeve.

  “Please, my Lord, I set great store by your opinion. Your lady Mother has told me that you had the great good fortune to listen to Anna Milder-Hauptmann, the famous soprano singer, during her tournèe in London, before the war. I do not presume to compare with her, of course, but if you could listen to me and tell me what you think…”

  Short of being rude, there was no way that Hunter could decline the dubious honour which Lady Phoebe had bestowed upon him. Thus, he bowed and followed the ladies into the drawing room.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Meanwhile, Nerissa was trying to get rid of one of her admirers, Lord Peter Featherstone, who, if one was to believe the current on dits, was soon to be Marquess of Glenfield.

  Nerissa’s father liked him quite well, and did not object to his paying court to his daughter.

  “Good family,” Lord Chester had stated, “good blood. His father is almost booked, poor soul. Wasting sickness. Young Peter will soon be Marquess. His uncle Edward is a bishop, his aunt married the Earl of Balfield, a Scotsman. No siblings, which is well, because Lord Featherstone squandered quite a bit of blunt while sowing wild oats. Well, young men will be young men…”

  “My dear sir,” her mother had objected, “I do believe Lord Langley would be a more suitable choice. Anyway, there is still time, the Season has not ended yet. Perhaps some better opportunity will turn up. Nerissa is all the rage, you know.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  ‘I really do wish’ Nerissa thought ‘that my parents would not speak about my marriage as if I were not there. After all, it’s me they are bickering about…’

  “A penny for your thoughts…”

  Lord Peter Featherstone’s voice interrupted her reverie and Nerissa shot him a brilliant smile.

  “Nothing of import, my lord. I was thinking of something that my parents told me.”

  Lord Peter looked at Nerissa. She was a beauty, no doubt about it. Accomplished, pleasing and not an empty-headed ninny, either.

  She would make a superb marchioness.

  Her dowry was not large, but it was sufficient to appease at least the best part of his debtors. Some vowels of his were in the hands of seedy gentlemen whose main trait was not forbearance.

  Lady Nerissa seemed his best hope for a rapid cash infusion, in a woman that he would not be at all unhappy to have in his bed. He had to become betrothed to her soon, lest some more eligible beau should snatch her away. In that instant, a bold plan formed in his mind and he resolved to act upon it straightaway.

  ~~~~~~~~

  The song had ended, to courteous applause, and Lady Phoebe smiled coyly, curtsied and shot a wishful look at Hunter. She was set on becoming Lady Melton before the Season ended. This was her second Season and, if it ended without anybody asking her to marry them, she would end on the shelf, an old maid of no import.

  She yearned to become a Duchess, a leader of fashion, a recognised power amongst the ton, but beyond that, she must admit it to herself - Lord Melton turned her knees to jelly.

  Up to now, all of her ploys had been unsuccessful - she had failed to catch his attention. Lady Phoebe ground her teeth. It was, she decided, the fault of that hateful Lady Nerissa, preening around in her vulgar gowns. What proper young lady had ever dared to wear burgundy, midnight blue, crimson, emerald green or coral red? Of course nobody could fail to notice her.

  ‘Well, my lord Duke,’ she told herself, ‘we shall see. I will not allow you to disregard me. I may play the silly fool, but I’m more than a match for you.’

  ~~~~~~~~

  Nerissa was sitting on a chair, fanning herself, while Lord Featherstone hovered attentively, offering her a glass of lemonade.

  “It is rather stifling inside, isn’t it? It seems that half the guests share my opinion, and have made themselves scarce. Have you seen the gardens, Lady Nerissa? Lady Stanmore had them recently redesigned. What say you – shall we stroll a bit and have a look at them? It will be a relief from this overheated room…”

  Nerissa hesitated. She did not think it was comme il faut to take a turn in the gardens with a gentleman, even if it was true that lots of people were already there.

  She sighed, thinking of Hunter and their escapades, wandering the woods and fields of their country homes. It seemed like an impossible dream, so long ago, and so unreachable now. In truth, she also yearned for some fresh air, because the weather had been foggy and wet these last few days and it had been impossible to stay outside for very long.

  Lord Featherstone pressed on - “We shall be in full view all of the time and, anyway, rules are not so strict at house parties. Look, Lady Nerissa! There is even a full moon! Think what fun we shall have! Let’s go!”

  So saying, he took Nerissa by the hand, propelling her across the terrace, and down the stairway leading to the gardens, before she had time to frame a courteous refusal.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Prompted by a darkling look from his mother, Hunter had escorted Lady Phoebe to a window seat and was listening to her inconsequential chit-chat. She was delicately sipping cold lemonade and looking at him with wide, slightly vacant eyes.

  “Look, Your Grace, how romantic! Lady Stanmore insisted on having a medieval ruin in her garden and tonight the full moon is rising behind it. Is it not like a fairy tale? One could imagine the Little Folk dancing in a glade and Queen Titania, with a flower crown… My Lord, would it really be so naughty if we were to go for a stroll? It would please me to no end…”

  Hunter looked around, feeling a sudden wave of fatigue wash over him. The ladies in their elegant gowns, jewels sparkling at their throats and wrists, the gentlemen in their formal attire, the gossiping matrons: everything seemed meaningless, empty, and ephemeral. Lady Phoebe was looking expectantly at him. It was clear that she wanted to go out, but had hesitated to ask. He considered the idea. ‘Why not?’ he thought. At least it would be a respite from the stuffy, overcrowded room.

  He smiled

  “Could I have the honour of escorting you for a short walk in the gardens, Lady Phoebe?”

  She smiled graciously.

  “Gladly, my Lord.”

  Whilst she spoke demurely, inside, she was exulting - she had succeeded, her ruse had worked. Now, for the final strike! An almost shifty, covetous look in her eyes, she went down the staircase, her hand lightly reposing on Hunter’s arm.

  ~~~~~~~~

  “What do
you think of Lady Stanmore’s medieval ruin, Lady Nerissa?”

  “An eyesore” she answered without thinking.

  Lord Peter laughed.

  “You do have taste, Lady Nerissa. You are not in the least conventional, you know. Conversing with you is a rare pleasure.”

  Turning her towards him, he put his hands on her shoulders.

  “And your beauty is enough to make a man crazed…”

  His arm encircled her waist, pulling her against him and he kissed her hard. Nerissa tried to free herself, but her struggle was in vain. Lord Peter held her in an iron grip. She let out a muffled cry of outrage at that cavalier treatment, but he was not to be denied.

  ~~~~~~~~

  He had wandered with Lady Phoebe, aimlessly, for a while, when Hunter realised that there was nobody anywhere near them and began to feel distinctly uneasy.

  “We really should return, Lady Phoebe. Our absence could be noticed…“

  “Let’s go a bit further, my lord.” she cajoled, pouting. “The ruin is just a short way ahead, and I do so wish to see it close up! I am sure that nothing untoward could befall me in your company. Besides, you are a war hero, are you not? You would protect me against any evildoer, would you not?”

  In that moment Hunter perceived a movement, just beyond the corner of the ruin which they were approaching, saw a flash of burgundy silk, and suddenly remembered that Nerissa was wearing a burgundy gown that evening. Upon hearing a muffled sound, which was alarming like a squeal of protest, he started to run, unintentionally towing behind him the bewildered Lady Phoebe, who clung to his arm like a limpet.

  He turned the corner of the artfully constructed ruin, and beheld an unknown blackguard, who was holding a struggling Nerissa and trying to silence her with a kiss. It was like some sort of awful déjà vu, a re-enactment of his nightmares. Only, this time, it was not Beatriz, but Nerissa, fighting a man who was attempting to take advantage of her. And in was not a dream, but the harsh reality.

  “Let her go, you scoundrel!” Hunter roared, barely arresting his forward motion before colliding with the struggling couple. He caught Nerissa’s hand, and pulled her hard towards him, twisting her out of Lord Peter’s clutches.

  Hunter had moved at lightning speed and, in so doing, had unbalanced Lady Phoebe, who had still been clinging to his arm with grim determination. The twist that freed Nerissa strained the final limits of Lady Phoebe’s balance.

  Unable to help herself, she let go of his arm and was thrown forward, directly towards Lord Peter.

  Lord Peter, flabbergasted at the sudden wrenching disappearance of the woman in his arms, and unbalanced himself by her removal, had stumbled forward, promptly colliding with Lady Phoebe. With an automatic reflex, he tried to prevent Lady Phoebe from falling and found, in a strange juxtaposition of circumstances, that he was holding her in his arms.

  Meanwhile Hunter, stumbling backwards from the force of Nerissa’s arrival in his arms, to end leaning against the wall of the artful ruin, found himself still holding her, as she collapsed against him, faint with relief at her unexpected deliverance from peril.

  “You play the gallant knight very well, my Lord”, she whispered.

  “And you make a very fetching damsel in distress,” he replied.

  He knew that he had to let her go, to restore her to balance and to a less dishevelled state, but somehow he could not. She was leaning into his strength with artless abandon, as if she had finally found her place.

  In that precise moment, an older couple appeared, walking sedately around the bend in the path - none other than their hosts, Lord and Lady Stanmore. It took only an instant for Lady Stanmore to take in the most unseemly scene. Lady Phoebe, panting and dishevelled, in the arms of Lord Peter Featherstone and Lady Nerissa, locked with His Grace of Melton in what appeared to be a steamy embrace.

  Eyes shining as she took in every aspect of the scene before her, obviously to memorise the juicy details for further reference and embroidery of description, she took a deep breath before she spoke.

  “Well, well, if we did not stumble upon a whole dovecote of love birds… I did not expect that my new garden would prove quite so conductive to dalliance… Ladies and gentlemen, please compose yourselves and follow us back to the house, immediately. I will not have my house party disgraced by your wanton behaviour. I do believe that your parents should be informed at once and that appropriate action needs to be taken.” There was no mistaking her meaning, not the determined expression in her eye.

  Having delivered her speech, Lady Stanmore marched toward the house, followed by a subdued Nerissa, a brooding Hunter, a black browed Lord Peter and a wailing Lady Phoebe.

  Within a few minutes of their return, the whole drawing room was buzzing with rumours. Behind their fans the ladies exchanged titbits of what promised to become the scandal of the Season, involving, moreover, the much sought after Lady Nerissa.

  “Half naked, Lady Stanmore told me…”

  “A secret assignation, imagine that!”

  “Who knows how long they may have been carrying on…”

  “Maybe not only kissing, my dear…”

  “Alone, in the garden, at night…”

  “I would never have thought…”

  “Such nice young ladies…”

  “Beware of still waters…”

  In a dark corner, Lady Phoebe was crying her heart out, while her mother patted her head and tried to soothe her.

  “Worse luck, my daughter, but you landed a title anyway. A Marchioness is not a Duchess, true, but it is the next best thing. And do not concern yourself so. Your dear Papa shall make the Marquess marry you, do not doubt it…”

  Suddenly, everybody stopped talking. A very pale Duke of Melton walked toward Lord Chester, bowed before him, and spoke, the words ringing clear and true in the silent room.

  “My lord, may I ask you to do me the great honour of granting me your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

  Lord Chester regarded him with an icy stare. It was clear that His Grace of Melton’s suit was not relished, but that it would be accepted to ensure the prevention of a very disagreeable scandal.

  “You have my permission to marry my daughter Nerissa, my lord Duke. Please meet me the day after tomorrow to go through the formal agreement. I have a few things to discuss with you and you would do well to pay close attention.” Then he addressed his wife.

  “Madam, tomorrow we return to London. You shall have plenty to do, if we are to arrange Nerissa’s marriage before the Season ends.”

  Hunter walked out of Lord Chester’s study in a much-improved frame of mind. He had been able to reassure his father-in-law-to-be about himself. It had been hard for him to talk about the war and about His Majesty’s Hounds and their role, as much of it as he was at liberty to discuss, but he had felt the need to make Lord Chester understand that he, Hunter Barrington, Duke of Melton, was not a wild and dissipated boy anymore.

  As luck would have it, Lord Wilfred Dartworth, former leader of the Hounds, whose role Hunter had taken on after his untimely death, happened to have been one of Lord Chester’s friends and this had done much toward easing their relationship.

  Hunter had frankly explained the freak accident in Lady Stanmore’s garden, but assured Lord Chester of his willingness to marry Nerissa, whom he held in high regard.

  His marriage had come about in a strange enough manner - he wanted to start his wedded life on good terms with his soon-to-be wife’s parents.

  To this purpose, he had asked to speak with Lady Chester as well, and found her already well disposed toward him. Lady Chester was, in the end, pragmatic – if her daughter was to wed in such circumstance, far better it be to a Duke, than to a less reputable man, or one of lesser rank.

  Hunter was worldly enough to see, perfectly well, that a Duke was a Duke, however tarnished his reputation. The wily Lady Phoebe had valued his title enough, it seemed, to stage an elaborate ruse to try to force him into marriage. Only the accident of
them arriving in the same place as Lord Peter and Lady Nerissa had prevented it from being he who was found with Lady Phoebe in his arms. Hunter was profoundly grateful for the way things had turned out.

  Now he had to speak with Nerissa, the most difficult task of all. He had tried, for all of the previous day and night, to unravel the knot of his feelings, but the results of his efforts had been poor. He was still not clear, in his own mind, of exactly what his feelings were. He knew that he was strongly attracted to her, and he was also aware of his deep unease when he saw her with other men.

  ‘Deep unease!’ he told himself ‘You would do well to get rid of the niceties, cease mincing words, and call it by its name, jealousy, and be done with it…’

  An unwanted image intruded on his mind. Nerissa as he had seen her two days ago, scared and trembling in his arms, but still spirited enough to joke about her predicament. No, he could not regret the blind fate that had forced his hand -overall, he could not say that he was unhappy. He wondered, though, about Nerissa’s feelings – could she be happy with him?

  He would give her as much of himself as he could, and, with luck, they would at least be able to resume the kind of friendship they had felt, for that magical time before they had gone to London, when they had walked and talked in the silence of the winter fields and woods.

  More than this, he did not dare to hope for.

  He stood a full minute in front of the morning room door, then braced himself and asked the footman to announce him.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Nerissa knew that Hunter was closeted with her father and could not help but be anxious about it.

  She knew that Lord Chester had little use for Hunter, whom he still saw as the mischievous boy he remembered, given to practical jokes and outrageous pranks, not as the head of his family.

  She had deep misgivings about this marriage, forced upon both of them by the failed scheming of others. Even if she admitted to being in love with Hunter, she did not think her feelings were reciprocated.