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

by Arietta Richmond

  Suddenly, out of the mist, a feminine figure appeared.

  She was swathed in layers and layers of incorporeal veils, somehow shaped like vast, shimmering wings, gathered around an inner core of splendour. She emanated a feeling of peace and of ineffable joy.

  Hunter stopped, in awe of the mysterious being, and, when she was near enough for him to see her face, he was stunned to discover that she was none other than Beatriz, his long mourned love.

  Beatriz, not as he had seen her in his nightmares, a bloody, battered corpse, but as he had often seen her during the happy, carefree days of their love, her long, shining, blue-black hair swirling around her, her gold flecked eyes alive with laughter, her dainty little hands, the perfect oval of her face.

  She gave him a dazzling smile.

  “Welcome, my beloved. Long have I called for you, from this land out of time and space, but you were too ill, to obsessed with grief and guilt to hear me. Now you are healed. Now you love again and can let me go. Now you have found your peace and I can fully embrace the peace and the light that are my rightful legacy. Think of me, speak of me with Nerissa, for she will understand, but mourn for me no more, my beloved and remember, loved ones can leave you, but Love is everlasting.”

  Beatriz grazed Hunter’s cheek with a feather-light touch and smiled her radiant smile again.

  The light grew and grew until it became almost painful and Hunter woke, a patch of sunshine bathing his face.

  He felt strangely rested, as if he had slept soundly all night long and was finally at peace.

  Beatriz’s smile was still with him, now an inner source of strength, and not, anymore, of sorrow.

  Now he could admit it to himself - somehow, he did not know exactly when, he had fallen in love with Nerissa.

  Whether he was ready to tell her, though, was an entirely different question.

  Absentmindedly, Hunter let Bulwick shave him, dress him and fuss around him with unusual forbearance. The valet reminded him that, later in the afternoon, he was due for a fitting at Meyer’s, his marriage being only a week hence, and, when Hunter nodded instead of grumbling and groaning, Bulwick looked at him with unfeigned surprise.

  “Are you well, my lord?” he dared to ask.

  Hunter looked at him with an abstract look.

  “What? Yes, I am well, what is the matter with you? Stop pestering me and go ask the groom to saddle Nuage.”

  Relieved because his master was back to his normal, no-nonsense self, Bulwick bowed and scurried away.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Hunter could not wait to see Nerissa.

  As soon as he reached Lord Chester’s town house, he threw Nuage’s reins to the footman who had opened the door and, without waiting to be announced, he almost ran to the library, which he knew, by now, to be Nerissa’s favourite room.

  The footman, a family man with a son only a few years younger than Hunter, already married and a father himself, shook his head knowingly.

  “In earnest, are you?” he thought. “Good for you, our little mistress is deserving of a loving husband.”

  The library door was half open - Hunter peered inside and saw Nerissa sitting in front of an escritoire, her back to him, engrossed in some task he could not precisely see. Drawing, probably, he thought. The curtains were drawn back, the window open, and the room was full of light and air. He slipped cautiously through the door and crept inside, partly to surprise her, partly because he was very curious to see what she was drawing. He had his suspicions, but very much wished Nerissa to confide in him.

  Stopping, he looked at Nerissa, at her long, elegant neck revealed by her upswept hair, at her creamy skin set off by her turquoise gown, at the graceful curve of her shoulders. An almost irresistible urge came upon him, to sweep her up into his arms, and kiss her breathless.

  He tiptoed nearer, looked over her shoulder and was almost driven to distraction by the sight of her swelling bosom, lightly veiled by a gauze fichu.

  He closed his eyes for an instant and looked again.

  Nerissa was drawing a plan, and impressions of the result, for a large, magnificent formal garden, seen from different perspective angles. There were thickets and fountains, a little ornamental lake, a Greek temple on a hillock, a walled garden with wrought iron seats, where one could sit and breathe in the heady aromas of precious herbs. There were statues and urns full of flowers and winding paths flanked by herbaceous borders. There was a slender stone bridge over a brook, and a lily pond, there were deciduous and evergreen trees.

  The different kinds of shrubs, trees, herbs and flowers were drawn in exquisite detail on several sheets of paper, surrounded by meticulous notes about species and varieties, the architectural elements were classically elegant, the plan as a whole was a masterpiece of balance and harmony.

  Hunter could clearly perceive, just looking at it, that a stroll in that garden would be an exciting adventure, a discovery, a pleasure for the eyes and for the spirit. It was not merely craftsmanship, not even good craftsmanship - it was so far beyond that as to be art at its most complex.

  The front view, including the house façade, was strangely familiar, and Hunter suddenly realised that it represented Meltonbrook Chase.

  ‘Why,’ he thought, ‘the little minx!’ and was strangely moved because, it seemed, Nerissa already thought of that place as their home, hers to make into a place of harmony and beauty.

  Finally understanding the scope of Nerissa’s talent and the true nature of her dream, he could not stifle a gasp.

  Nerissa became suddenly aware of his presence and turned, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. A soft cry of distress escaped from her lips, while she tried to hide her drawings by turning them over.

  Hunter smiled at her. “Why do you try to hide your remarkable work, Nerissa? You should be proud of it. I swear, I never saw anything so utterly fascinating. Will you explain the details to me? I must confess I do not know a thing about garden design.”

  Nerissa could not believe what she had just heard. He was not angry! He thought her work was remarkable! He really liked it! Her relief was so intense as to bring her near to tears.

  “You do not think badly of me, then? You are not displeased?”

  Hunter laughed aloud and kissed her breathless, as he had wanted to do for some time now.

  Still holding her tight, he told her tenderly: “My dear, silly, wonderful Nerissa, how could I think badly of you? Besides, did you not know that Her Majesty Queen Caroline, King George II’s consort, planned Hyde Park and had the Serpentine built? If a royal lady could be a garden designer, why not the wife of a simple Duke?”

  “I was so afraid…” whispered Nerissa “It is such an unladylike pursuit… You know, when I was still in the schoolroom, I used to eavesdrop on my brother, Kevin’s geometry lessons… I even…” she giggled, “I even… mmmh… borrowed his books, his compass and his set squares. He was very happy that he couldn’t find them, for he hated geometry… This was the passion, the dream I hinted at, to you…”

  “My naughty brat! Just like Kevin, anyway… I’d bet he knew perfectly well who the mysterious thief was! You must never be afraid of me, Nerissa.”

  Hunter went on, suddenly serious.

  “This is really important for you, is it not? Well, I want you to implement your plans for Meltonbrook Chase…Yes, I recognised it, you little vixen! And, moreover, I want you to redo all of the gardens of all our estates. You have been the rage of this Season, your gardens will be the rage of the next many years, I am sure of it.”

  Nerissa disentangled herself from Hunter’s embrace, looked at him with a Mona Lisa smile and curtsied. “Thank you, your Grace. It is a gift without price, that which you grant to me.”

  Hunter smiled and kissed her hands.

  “I love you, Nerissa. I am the greatest fool not to have told you earlier, but somehow I did not feel I deserved you. I love you because you are what you are. I love you because you are clever, I love you because you are brave, and I
love you because I know I can speak to you of anything at all and that you will understand me. I love you because you do not prattle, and because you are a talented artist, and not a boring milk and water miss, with an empty head and a vacuous smile. I could almost thank that blackguard Featherstone, whose hateful behaviour delivered you into my hands. Can I hope that one day you will love me in return?”

  Nerissa stared at Hunter a moment, then suddenly flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck, crying and laughing at the same time.

  “I love you, you thick headed clod! I have had a tendre for you since I was ten years old! I have loved you even more since my first sight of you when you came back from France and Spain. I have looked at you being pawed by half the marriageable young ladies of the ton and…and…”

  Nerissa got no further with the sentence, as Hunter, more happy than he could have believed possible, pulled her to him, held her tight and kissed her, until they were both dizzy with the intensity of it.

  “There, my lord…” beamed Bulwich, giving the final touches to Hunter’s wedding attire.

  The young Duke looked impressive in his finely tailored black superfine coat, black breeches, white silk stockings and silver brocade waistcoat. A snowy cravat, which Bulwich had insisted tying in the Ballroom style, completed his dress. “Quite delicious, my lord, I do assure you, and very becoming. The best style for a white neck cloth…”

  “Do what you like, Bulwich,” Hunter had answered in a tired voice. “You’ll do it anyway, even if I protest!”

  His friends, who were present at the dressing ceremony, had laughed immoderately.

  Lord Geoffrey Clarence, who was to be Hunter’s best man, gave him an ostentatious obeisance, bowing deeply and flourishing his hat.

  “All hail to you, my lord Duke. I salute you! May you live happily leg-shackled for ever and ever.”

  “You may joke as much as you want, you wretch,” grumbled Hunter. “The parson’s mousetrap is waiting for all of you. The difference is that I’m marrying the fairest of them all…”

  “Oh, well,” quipped Lord Pendholm, “How does that saying go? All cats are grey at night… I would happily settle for a sweet natured little thing with a fat dowry… if I can find one…I am not considered a prime catch on the Marriage Mart…too many skeletons in my family’s closets…”

  The Hounds exchanged knowing glances. A degree of bitterness was hidden behind Charlton’s jocular attitude. His departed elder brother, the former Viscount Pendholm, had been something of an unsavoury character and very unpleasant on-dits circulated about him.

  Raphael Morton, the only Hound without a title, raised a cup of champagne and cheered. “To married bliss, dear friends! May we all find our soul mate and live happily ever after.”

  “Now that is a worthy and noble sentiment. Trust our plebeian friend to utter it. Long live the productive class and down with us debauched aristocrats!” guffawed Lord Barton Seddon.

  “You are speaking treason, sir,” laughed Hunter. “You spent too many years with them murdering Froggies, as my batman would say… Their revolutionary attitude appears to have brushed off on you.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the friendly banter.

  “The carriage is ready, my lord.” said the footman.

  “Let’s to church, gentlemen,” said Hunter. “When we talk again, I will be a staid married man. Fancy that!”

  ~~~~~~~~

  The wedding gown had been delivered the previous evening and, on the wedding day, Madame Beaumarais herself had come to attend to the preparations. The canny Frenchwoman wanted to make sure that Lady Chester’s questionable taste would not mar the wedding gown’s perfection with some gaudy frill.

  Pure white, which had recently come into fashion for brides, was not Nerissa’s colour, but then it was not compulsory either. Thus, the couturière had been able to match the wedding gown with Nerissa’s colouring and the result was spectacular. The gown was made of shimmering golden satin, the bodice delicately trimmed with green-gold lace. From the shoulders, a long train hung, in alternating matte and shiny green-gold and golden stripes. A gold filigree tiara with inset emeralds, matching earrings, green-gold elbow length gloves and green-gold satin slippers completed the ensemble.

  When she saw her mistress dressed in all her finery, Lizzie, Nerissa’s lady’s maid, whispered in awe - “How lovely you look, my lady! You look like Springtime herself. You will outshine the sun itself today!”

  “Yes, you do look wonderful, little sister. And here is your bouquet,” said Kevin, presenting a square box to Nerissa. She opened it to discover a most exquisite posy of yellow roses and maidenhair fern, tied with green and golden ribbons. Nerissa gasped with pleasure and surprise.

  “Thank you, my brother.” She smiled mischievously. “I could throw it to you…” Kevin blanched.

  “God forefend!” he exclaimed. “Father is waiting for you in the hall. May I have the honour of escorting thee thither, my lady sister?”

  St. George’s in Hanover Square, with its handsome neoclassical façade, was the church the ton bridal couples usually chose. The interior, lighted only through the beautiful stained glass windows, was dim after the bright sunlight outside.

  Even if the marriage breakfast was going to be a grand affair, only the relatives and close friends of the couple attended the ceremony. Flanked by his best man, Lord Geoffrey Clarence, Hunter waited for his bride to walk down the aisle, accompanied by the solemn and joyous notes of the Trumpet Flourish by Henry Purcell. When Nerissa passed through the portal into the church, a gasp of awe escaped from everyone’s lips - it was as if a sweet radiance had filled the interior, so astoundingly beautiful was the bride.

  When finally Nerissa was near her groom, Lord Chester handed his daughter to Hunter and smiled. During the last few weeks, Hunter and the older gentleman had had long conversations, thanks to which Lord Chester’s attitude had undergone a deep change. Talking with him, Hunter had finally understood how his war experiences could be turned into advantageous assets in managing his own land.

  His flair for organisation, his attention to detail and his knack for problem solving were the stuff of which a good landowner could be made. Consequently, Lord Chester had modified the marriage agreements, granting Nerissa a much larger dowry than Hunter had ever expected.

  “After all,” Lord Chester had said, “you are my nearest neighbour and our lands adjoin. It goes to my advantage to have them well cared for. See my Nerissa’s dowry as an investment of mine, will you? Besides, you are my best friend’s boy and I have a duty towards you, have I not?”

  “Dearly beloved…” the parson began and proceeded to go through the beautiful marriage service.

  They exchanged their vows and, when Hunter put the wedding ring on Nerissa’s finger and pronounced the age old marriage formula: “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Nerissa smiled with such shining joy that Hunter had to restrain himself from causing a scandal and kissing her there and then, without waiting for the parson’s permission.

  Then the recessional march began, the stirring “Rondeau” by Jean-Joseph Mouret, and the newlyweds walked down the aisle, followed by their family and friends.

  Outside, Nerissa threw her bouquet and a bewildered Viscount Pendholm caught it. “Serves you right!” exclaimed Hunter, punching him on the shoulder.

  A merry band, led by Kevin, was waiting for them and pelted them with a shower of rose petals and jasmine flowers.

  The open carriage which would convey them back to Lord Chester’s townhouse was bedecked with flowers – it would seem that their mothers’ enthusiasm for excessive decoration was everywhere.

  The wedding breakfast was a merry affair, with laughter, toasts and delicious food. Alyse was sitting near Lord Tillingford and, with her vivacious prattle, succeeded in making him smile and engage in light banter.
/>
  Maria, for the first time in her life, was not the fairest of them all, but was happy to leave that accolade to her sister on her wedding day. Even if she was seated near her husband, the slightly portly Lord Edmund Wollstonefort, Earl of Granville, she often stole glances at Charles, who was sitting on her left. She was finding his conversation surprisingly interesting. Today Hunter’s younger brother, Viscount Wareham, looked particularly handsome, and was clearly fascinated by Nerissa’s beautiful sibling, and rather puzzled that her husband appeared to pay her so little attention.

  Charles and Hunter’s long brother-to-brother conversations had resulted in an agreement that, for the time being, Charles would stay at Meltonbrook Chase and help Hunter to gain a better grasp of his duties as a landowner, and of the scope of his estates.

  “I have too much to learn,” Hunter had told Charles, “and I’d rather learn from you, than from some stiff necked steward or from some smarmy hireling.” Charles had laughed. “Beware, my lord Duke! I am a very hard taskmaster!”

  Sybilla was sitting near Lord Seddon, quite captured by his tales about the horses he had taken care of during the war. He talked about the exploits, the intelligence, the courage of the noble animals, showing a deep understanding and sensitivity. Sybilla, who was a very good, if somewhat reckless, horsewoman, felt an affinity with him and wondered whether, at some point in the future, they could ride together.

  Perhaps here was a man who might not expect her to ride like those useless young women she so often saw riding in Hyde Park.

  After the wedding breakfast, the guests gathered in the ballroom, where an orchestra was waiting for them. A lively afternoon followed, with much dancing and laughter.

  The newlyweds were so patently happy together, so enthralled with each other, that nobody could doubt that they had married for love. For once, the gossips were silent. The fearsome Lady Stanmore was heard conceding that they looked very good together and ascribing to herself the merit of having brought their secret engagement into the open.