by Regina Darcy
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
EPILOGUE
BONUS CHAPTER 1:FALLING FOR THE EARL
BONUS CHAPTER 2:THE DUKE’S SECRET DESIRE
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2016
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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reginadarcy.cleanandwholesomeromance.com
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ONE
“Matthew! Jacob! Help me set the poles for the tent; our first meeting is tomorrow and we must be ready.”
Kenneth Williams pulled the heavy boxes from the cart. He had only just left his two daughters in the rooms they were renting from a local farmer. The girls were busy setting up the place that would be their home for the foreseeable future.
Mr Williams, a former clergyman, had been reduced to living by the sharpness of his wits since the day he had chosen the life of a traveling preacher. His meagre savings would soon be exhausted, and he still had to contend with the upbringing of his four children, two of whom were girls of a marriageable age.
He worried about their future, not wanting either of them to marry men unable to afford to keep them in the lifestyle to which he would like them to be accustomed. He knew his religious fervour had brought great hardship upon his children, and he knew that his youngest son bitterly resented him for it. The others were more pliable, particularly his oldest boy Matthew who, at twenty-two, seemed set to follow in his footsteps. His girls would have benefitted from the tender care of a mother, but his wife and love of his life had died when the children were young, and he had raised them alone.
“Father, I think this is an ideal place to set up our tent for meetings,” Matthew said. “It is far enough away from the vicarage and the Lord of the manor, yet close enough that folk may easily come to hear your words.”
“I agreed. That said, if trouble comes, we will face it with pure hearts, my son,” Mr Williams replied. “For now, let us hurry and set things up here. We have given our word to assist with morning and evening chores on the farm to help pay our way. We cannot be late on our very first evening.”
He handed his sons the poles, and they worked silently and quickly to set up. Mr Williams could feel his younger son Jacob’s anger beating against him. The boy did not share his faith, and harboured an unhealthy resentment against God for the conditions under which they were forced to live. He had been the hardest hit by his mother’s untimely death, and had never recovered the joyful spirit of his childhood. Instead, he had grown hardened and rebellious.
“I’m sure you will enjoy working with the animals, Jacob,” Mr Williams said, trying to drain away his son’s ill humour. “Particularly the horses. I know that you love horses.”
There was no response. The boy wrapped his silence around him like a cloak, and Matthew scolded him sharply. “Do you not hear our father speaking to you, Jacob? You should be grateful that we have been blessed by finding this new place, instead of being angry. We prayed for a good way to earn our keep, and this is much better than the last place we lived in.”
“If you find it better to muck out the stables and feed cows and pigs, then I suppose you will be grateful,” Jacob replied surly. “For myself, I have other dreams.”
Before his sons could get into yet another heated debate, Mr Williams called them over to help him stretch the canvas, and the work continued. The sky was darkening by the time they finished and he hurried them along to the farm, where he joined the farmer beginning the evening chores.
“Please forgive our tardiness, Mr Smith. What would you like help with this evening?”
The farmer, a short rotund man, smiled cheerily. “Your boys can help me finish up out here, good sir. Your daughters have helped my wife with the evening meal, and have baked some cakes for us to sell at market this next Saturday. That should be enough for today.”
Mr Williams turned away, grateful for a moment to himself where he could sit and rest before the evening meal. He would pray with the farmer and his wife, who were childless and had been so kind to his children. He could tell that Mrs Williams would dote on his girls, though they were no longer so much in need of nurturing. He prayed, as he wiped his brow, that Jacob would not make their time in this peaceful place unpleasant. He was not ashamed of how he made his living, nor sorry for his decision to leave the Church of England, but he did wish that he could reach his youngest child, and show Jacob that his decisions did not stem from lack of love for his family.
His heavy sigh must have carried on the evening breeze that fluffed his overlong hair, because a quiet voice stopped him in his tracks.
“That is a ponderous sigh, Papa,” his youngest daughter Amy observed, coming up to kiss his cheek. “How fare you this eve?”
He took a deep sigh and then admitted, “I worry about your brother Jacob.” Of all his children, Amy was the one he found himself most able to share his concerns with. She embodied the spirit of his dead wife: calm, intelligent, sweet natured, and deeply concerned for the welfare of others. She was a beautiful young lady, fair of face and form. He worried that her innocence of spirit would bring her to great ruin if he did not watch her like a hawk. There were bounders everywhere, in every class, and though they were poor, he would not have his daughter’s good name, nor his own, sullied by an impure alliance.
Amy put her arm through his and sighed. “He will come round, Papa,” she said. “He just needs more time to discover what it is he wants out of life, and what is important. He is not Matthew.”
“That he is not,” her father agreed. “A more amenable soul that your older brother I have yet to meet. He has such a meek and quiet spirit. And he is so full of faith and good works, he will make some woman a stalwart husband.”
“Dinner will be ready soon, Papa,” she said. “You should have a wash before then. Mary Anne has set up a basin of water for you to use.”
Nodding his thanks, Mr Williams walked into the stable, and climbed the ladder to the loft above, where he and his sons would live until they could find better lodgings at reasonable rates. The space was clean, airy, the two cots supplied with clean sheets. The farmer had left the maintenance of his two plough horses to Mr Williams and his sons, so as to reduce the likelihood of the family being disturbed by outsiders. His daughters had been given the small attic room in the farmhouse, for which he was grateful.
While Kenneth Williams and his children partook of a warm supper with their hosts, his tent was being observed and frowned upon with much disdain by Michael Hayward, steward to the young Duke of Ashton, Percival Lockhart. The Lord whose lands the tent had been erected. In fact, it was just inside the border of his lands, in clear breach of trespassing laws. Mr Hayward was not a forgiving man, being of the mind that laws were meant to be upheld and that lawbreakers were to be punished to the fullest extent of the law, or at the very least, chased off the land they illegally occupied. His Grace would be apprised of this infraction as soon as Mr Hayward returned to the Manor. This...he looked keenly
at the sign posted in front of the tent...this Kenneth Williams would soon get his comeuppance. The cheek of the man, to presume to hawk his poor man’s gospel on the lands of a God-fearing Anglican. Mr Hayward rode off in high dudgeon, full of righteous indignation against the blasphemous dissenter.
The evening meal was in full swing by the time Mr Hayward returned, and he took himself off to have his own with the servants in the kitchen, where he informed them of his discovery. Mr Black, the butler, was of the opinion that these wandering preachers should be treated as the outlaws they were, and arrested and imprisoned. Mrs Tobias, the housekeeper wondered when things had come to such a pass that men could no longer stand by their beliefs without fear of imprisonment.
“After all, the days of the Inquisition are long gone, aren’t they?” she commented, her Scottish accent heavy. “And if we canna be true Protestants, why did we bother to break away from the Church of Rome?” Her r’s were most pronounced when she was agitated, as was clearly the case.
The men let the subject drop. An agitated Mrs Tobias was the last thing they wanted. They preferred a quiet and peaceful existence, and she could make their lives very miserable. Mr Hayward’s position as steward did not protect him from her wrath. As she had been with the family since before the duke’s birth, her position was set in stone. His was a much more recent tenure, and though he was a powerful servant, he trod carefully around her. However, as soon as dinner was over, the steward made his way up to the duke’s study, where the young Lord was ensconced with a glass of the best malt whiskey. After his discreet knock was answered with an invitation to enter, Mr Hayward approached the duke where he sat at his desk.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” he began. “Please forgive this interruption, but something has occurred of which I felt it my duty to apprise you.”
His Grace, the Duke of Ashton looked up as his steward approached. He smiled good-naturedly and asked, “What has happened, Mr Hayward?”
“I was taking stock of the condition of your lands, Your Grace, and came upon the tent of a wandering preacher just on the edge to the southwest, close by Worthing Road on the way to the village. It is a clear breach of trespassing laws, Your Grace, and I would be more than happy to send the man on his way.”
“Has he stolen from us, or done anything illegal of that nature?” His Lordship asked, standing up and crossing to the window to look into the night.
“Indeed I could not say, Your Grace,” the steward replied, “but surely removing him from the premises would inhibit any such activities on his part?”
“Indeed it would, Mr Hayward,” the young duke replied, turning back to face him, “which is why I will ride out myself to see what is afoot, and act upon any discoveries that I make. But thank you for bringing it to my attention. You continue to prove yourself a loyal and trustworthy servant.”
He smiled, dismissing the servant, who left the study in ill humour, though he was careful that none of it showed in his aspect. Mr Hayward thought it beneath the duke to ride out to beat trespassers off his land. Besides, that was his job, one in which he often found uncommon delight. Still, he had been given a most excellent compliment, and he would continue to show himself worthy of the trust that the duke placed in him. In the meantime, he must meet with the butler and housekeeper to discuss plans for the upcoming house party.
TWO
Two days later, at noon, Percy sat astride his horse walking the southwest perimeter of his land. He had taken, his stallion Hunter, for a run through the lands to the west, and this gentle amble was the steed’s chance to rest. He would dismount soon and let the animal wander freely, while he tried to find out more about his newest tenants. At twenty-seven, and only a year into his tenure as Duke of Ashton, Percy had been slow to adopt the ways of his other highborn neighbours, or the London set who often visited.
He never expected to inherit the duchy, having been born a second son. This is why he had taken a commission as an officer in the army. The war that was raging across Europe against Napoleon had taken its toll on him though. It was with both relief and profound regret that he returned home upon the death of his brother, who had left no heir. Now he was alone and responsible for an enormous estate and its people.
He was a simple man, with simple tastes who, while he could more than hold his own in polite circles, had very little interest in maintaining a facade of respectability that did not match his beliefs. He enjoyed a mug of ale as much as the farmer at the inn, and he took every man at his word unless he had reason to believe otherwise. And while he was no fool, he was no snob either, like many of his friends and relations.
What this meant for Percy was that he was forever at odds with the dictates of polite society. He had long ago given up trying to please others, especially after his mother’s passing five years earlier. His father’s death in the previous year had only made him that much more adamant. He would please himself first, others and their prejudices be damned. And so he rode until he spied the rather large tent erected by the side of the Worthing Road. It was certainly an auspicious place to set up shop for a wandering preacher; travellers could not fail to notice it on their passage to and from the village, or through it to the larger towns beyond. That a lazy stream ran close by was an added boon, not only for the weary traveller, but for the dry-throated preacher after an energetic sermon.
Finding a spot close to the stream for Hunter to graze and rest, Percy dismounted and left the horse to its own devices, knowing the animal would not stray far. He approached the tent from the side, hoping to meet someone with whom he could speak. The sound of voices drew him to the front, where he found a small cluster of people sitting around a makeshift table partaking of a midday meal. Without seeming to do so, he took the measure of the group and found them to be poor but well-maintained, of meagre means, and wary of strangers. At his approach, the oldest in the group, a man in years approaching that of his deceased father, stood and walked towards him, putting himself between Percy and the younger members of the group.
This must be the father, Percy thought, and by his clothing, he must also be the preacher. The collar of a vicar circled his throat, and his hands, when he extended them, were hard, though not calloused, a more certain sign that he was not a man of the fields. His boots, however, would tend to indicate the opposite to be true, and Percy’s nostrils wrinkled at the stench of dung that clung to them.
“Good day to you, sir,” Percy said, smiling in the most friendly way he could muster. “I’m Percy Lockhart, Duke of Ashton. These are my lands.” He became aware as the stranger bowed in his direction that his measure was also being taken.
The ex-vicar registered a moment of shock, as though he had not expected such an informal introduction or such plainspoken directness.
“Your Grace,” he replied, straightening his shoulders, “I am Kenneth Williams. These are my children.” He turned as he spoke and gestured for Percy to follow him. Together they went back to the table, where by this time the rest of the group were standing. “This is my oldest, Matthew. Mary Anne and Amy come next. Jacob is my youngest,” he said, indicating each one as he named him or her.
Percy immediately noticed two things. First, the youngest was not happy with his lot. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, and the surly expression he cast Percy’s way said he didn’t much care what the duke thought of him, and he just wished himself away from the present situation. The second thing he observed was the way each daughter showed who she was by the way she smiled.
Mary Anne Williams, the older girl, gave him her broadest smile, and eyed him boldly, completely unabashed, clearly interested in anything he might choose to suggest. She clearly also wanted out of their situation, and was prepared to do whatever she could to achieve that end, including getting her hooks into an available and eligible man. There could be no greater honour than becoming a duchess, and she knew it.
Amy Williams, on the other hand, barely looked him in the eye, and her smile was tremulous and
abashed at best. He found himself most drawn to her shy innocence and smiled at her, ignoring her sister’s brazen bid for his attention. As she looked up and finally caught his gaze, time seemed to stand still. Never had he felt so instantly fascinated and drawn to someone. Momentarily caught off guard he shook his head clear and refocused on the reason for his visit.
“It is my pleasure to meet you all,” he said, looking over the group. “I apologise for interrupting your midday meal, but my steward informed me two days ago that I had acquired new tenants, and I wished to see for myself about the truth of the matter.”
“Perhaps Your Grace will walk with me?” Mr Williams asked, and Percy agreed good-naturedly, leading the way down to the stream where his horse grazed.
“I would first like to know the exact nature of your business, Mr Williams,” Percy began, “and whether it is your intention to cause division in the parish. I cannot have you wilfully disrupting the orderly progress of our religious community. Are you here to try to convert the members of this parish and disrupt the vicar’s living, or are you here for travellers or other unchurched persons?”
Again the preacher looked stunned by the directness of Percy’s questions, and this time he did not hide it.
“I assure you, Your Grace, I have no interest in poaching from the living of my fellow minister, no matter our differences of opinion. I can only hope to look after my family by the honest sweat of my brow and the kind offerings of travellers who appreciate the worth of my beliefs.”
Percy could hear the sincerity in the man’s voice, even as he sensed a deeper, hidden affront at being asked such belittling questions. Not being a fool, however, despite his kind heart, he continued his interrogation.
“And how exactly will you make a living, Mr Williams? Are your children helping you in this endeavour?”