A Damsel for the Daring Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  A Damsel for the Daring Duke

  A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

  BRIDGET BARTON

  Copyright © 2018 by Bridget Barton

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

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  Table of Contents

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  A Damsel for the Daring Duke

  Introduction

  When Lord Thomas Carlton, second son of the Duke of Shawcross, decides one fateful afternoon in his youth to befriend the beautiful Lady Catherine Ambrose, he could never conceive of the events that would follow. Tired of his father's bullying and arrogance, he thinks he will amuse himself by making a friend of the daughter of the Duke's bitterest enemy; The Earl of Barford. Little did he know how he would fall in love with Lady Catherine and let loose a chain of events that could seemingly be stopped by nothing and nobody.

  Lady Catherine Ambrose, daughter of the Earl of Barford, knew what it was to grow up in a household where little was thought of a young woman. Her father was more concerned with his bitter feud with the Duke of Shawcross than the welfare of his offspring. When Thomas Carlton first speaks with her at a summer ball, Catherine thinks him daring and amusing, not to mention handsome. But, within a short space of time, she finds herself hopelessly in love with him. A love that would never, ever fade.

  When the two are discovered and parted by their families, Catherine finds herself adrift in a world she does not know, a place so far from home. But will she find peace there? And can her new family help her through the most shocking event of her life? And, when all is settled, can the two young lovers finally make their way back to each other and live in the love that should have been theirs all along?

  Chapter 1

  “No, James, you most certainly did not mention it before today. In fact, I would go as far as to say that would have been your intention, rather than a simple oversight.” The Duke of Sandford’s keen blue eyes peered over at his son from the other side of the breakfast table. “And I am by no means the fool you seem to take me for. One of these days, I daresay you will realize it. But until that time is upon us, I shall have to settle for reminding you.” He took a huge mouthful of bacon, for which his son was extraordinarily grateful.

  For one thing, it meant his father would remain silent on the subject of his sporting excursion to the east of the county for a few moments and, for another, it meant he would have less of the slightly undercooked bacon to eat himself.

  James Harrington was by no means a wasteful young man, but his father’s habit for ensuring everything provided was eaten would have worked a good deal better if less were provided in the first place. His father was a full-bellied man with time on his hands to make every meal last an eternity.

  James, on the other hand, could not abide to sit three times a day in his father’s company as it was, much less drag the whole thing out because there was far too much food for two men to eat.

  “And I shall remind you daily if this sort of thing continues.” The Duke started to speak again, and James winced as he was confronted with a mouthful of partially-chewed bacon. “Every day.” The Duke filled his mouth again.

  “Father, I said it was an oversight, and an oversight it was. Although I am sure I mentioned my excursion some weeks back.” James always found it a little too easy to lie to his father; nobody else, just the Duke.

  Perhaps nobody else in James’ sphere of society had the sort of character that made the occasional lie something far less of a sin and rather more of a necessity.

  “Mmmph,” his father grunted as he continued to chew, his mouth mercifully closed this time.

  “And in any case, I cannot see the need for all this high dudgeon. I am away for the weekend at Hanover Hall. What on earth can my absence matter?”

  “James, I might well have arranged a dinner or something similar here. And it might well have been a dinner to which your own attendance was vital. Pivotal even.”

  James groaned inwardly. What his father meant by that was obvious to him. The Duke was talking of one of his tedious attempts to find a match for his son. A young lady who, in the Duke’s eyes, would be absolutely suitable but who would undoubtedly, in James’ own eyes, be anything but.

  “Well, you have not arranged such a dinner that I am aware of, Father.” James knew he was being a little obtuse but frankly did not care.

  “No, I have not,” the Duke conceded gruffly; his patience was being stretched.

  “Then surely there is no issue of particular note. Likely there is nothing for us even to discuss, let alone to get cross about and interfere with the process of trying to digest the indigestible.” He looked significantly at the unappetizing piece of bacon on the end of his own fork.

  “Why must you always try to be so clever?” The Duke was no better than an angry bear before mid-afternoon on most days; just one little prod, and the volume of his voice rose by several decibels.

  “Father?” James said with amusement as he popped the bacon into his mouth.

  “You twist everything and make a jape of it all. Well, you are not funny, and I am not at all amused by you. Your friend, Hector Hanover, might appreciate your witticisms, but then I daresay Eton and Oxford must have changed a good deal since I went if this is what passes as proper behaviour these days.” The Duke furiously stabbed a kidney, and for an awful moment, James thought his father was about to push the whole thing into his anger-tortured mouth.

  Fortunately, the Duke dropped it down onto his plate and began to cut it.

  “Father, I do not mean to have you in all this state before we have even finished our breakfast.” James’ attempt at an apology was certainly going to be a sarcastic one. “And I really did think I had mentioned the sporting event at Hanover Hall. I can only apologize for not being absolutely sure and admit myself to be greatly relieved not to have interfered with the plans you did not make.”

  James looked truly apologetic and his father, initially looking as if he was sure he had been tied up in knots but was unsure how exactly, nodded his acceptance of the dubious apology.

  “Well, I must admit I am a little surprised you are going at all. I thought you had more or less parted company with Hector Hanover.” The Duke had calmed down, and James resisted the opportunity to smirk.

  “No, we are as friendly as ever we were. I daresay the little distance between Sandford and Hanover has something to do with it all. But I am bound to say that whenever we find ourselves in company, we are much as we ever were.”

  “I have no doubt,” his father said disapprovingly. “As frivolous and irreverent as always.”

  “I daresay,” James said, thinking it pointless to argue, especially since what his father had said was, on this occasion, largely true.

  James had to admit that he was looking forward to a few days away. Not only to rid himself of t
he ever-present and always rather bullying tones of his father, but to see his old school friend.

  Despite his father’s assumption, James and Hector really were as close as they had ever been. James missed his old friend a great deal and blamed his father’s constant demands for attention for it. He was forever arranging something truly dreadful in the social engagement arena or demanding that his son follow him all day every day so that he might learn the art of running a Duchy.

  Of course, James, being very much sharper than his father, realized that the best way to run a Duchy was to let the overseer and managers do the jobs they were paid for. They were, after all, the professionals in such things.

  James was not entirely without interest in the whole thing; it was just that he could see that once you knew the ins and outs, you knew them. That was enough to be able to say with confidence that your staff was doing a good job.

  A person did not need, in his opinion, to practice the whole thing over and over again. Once you had the gist of it, there was no more sense in continually practicing than there was in consciously practicing how to breathe in and out.

  You knew what to do; it took care of itself.

  James knew that, at nine and twenty, it really was time he turned his attention to more in life than just amusement, but knowing it and implementing it were two different things.

  He had always been of a bright, almost sunny disposition, very much like the mother who had departed this world far too soon.

  He most certainly had nothing in common with his father and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his beautiful, intelligent mother had only married the old brute because her own father had brought so much pressure to bear.

  “I am bound to say that I have never particularly considered you a sportsman, James.” The Duke was back on the hobby horse of disapproval, his agitation at the idea of his son’s disappearance to Hanover Hall still clear. “So, I would say that such a social gathering would be of little or no benefit to you.”

  “It is true I am not a dedicated sportsman,” James said with lofty amusement.

  It was true that James derived none of the pleasure from hunting and fishing that he gathered he was supposed to. Killing something for the simple sake of killing it, or in competition, was not a pastime that James had ever taken to. If he was honest, it rather sickened him.

  He was by no means a weak man, however, and was physically very fit and strong, with the height and build of a well-fed farm labourer. And he was an exceptional horseman who liked nothing better than to tackle the most impossible looking obstacles when he cantered across country.

  “Although I am rather good at archery, as you know,” he went on in his own defence, “a very decisive shot, as it happens.”

  “So are a lot of women,” his father snorted with victory as if there were no greater insult than to be compared unfavourably to a woman.

  “Indeed,” James said heartily, determined not to let his father have his own way. “If I remember rightly, Mama was a most exceptional archer.” James saw his father bristle and knew he had made a very palpable hit, one he was truly proud of.

  His mother had been a woman of many skills and passions, and archery was but one of them. And she far outstripped his father in anything which required a moment’s thought, concentration, or contemplation of any kind.

  Time and again the Duke of Sandford had tried to fire his arrows with more accuracy than his beautiful wife, and time and again he had failed.

  In truth, James could not remember his mother conceding a single shot to the husband whose own fury and determination to win had made him over emotional and reckless, loosing arrows off in a way that always made the household staff look extremely nervous and determinedly vigilant.

  And it was clear that, even after all these years, it was still a bone of contention with the arrogant old man.

  “And I do like to ride out, of course. I like to go at a fair old lick on horseback,” James went on.

  “Yes, but you never concentrate upon the hunt,” his father sneered.

  “There is a very good reason for that, Father.”

  “And that is?”

  “I do not like the hunt.”

  “What sort of full-blooded man does not like the hunt?”

  “This full-blooded man.” James looked dolefully at the plate of cool, damp-looking bacon that seemed not to be diminishing for a moment. He leaned over the table and speared two slices with his fork; there was nothing else for it, he would either have to help or find himself still sitting at the breakfast table with his father as darkness fell.

  “I hardly think a man who does not like to hunt can describe himself as full-blooded,” his father grumbled on.

  “There are many ways in which a man can tackle life with gusto, Father. Laying waste to anything with fur or feathers is but one of them.” James realized that he had nothing in common with his father at all.

  They were opposites in all things, even looks. Where the old Duke had always been fair, James was dark. He had dark, neatly cut thick hair, and his green eyes were just like his mother’s had been. But the old Duke had always been pale, his fair hair boasting none of the thickness of his son’s.

  In fact, James’ hair was so dark that the few greys he had stood out like fine silver, but his father’s hair simply looked a faded version of what it had always been and was not at all grey.

  And the Duke had always been and still was, something of a flabby man, one who always ran to fat no matter what he did. James, on the other hand, was taller and leaner, with no more than the simplest of activities keeping him fit and taut.

  As for character, nobody could be forgiven for thinking that the two men came from different worlds, never mind the same family. The Duke was a bully who thought that everybody around him had been put there by the Lord God Almighty himself with no better purpose than to do his bidding.

  He was feared by their staff and tradesmen alike, and there were few in society who did not agree with him on every opinion because it was unwise to do any other.

  James was an entirely different sort of a man. He loved life and liked nothing better than to be greatly amused. He was, perhaps, not as serious as a young man with his inevitable responsibilities should have been, but everybody who was acquainted with him liked him.

  Staff, friends, vague acquaintances; it was impossible not to like a young man who was so very handsome and obviously lighthearted.

  “I suppose you are talking about women, James.” His father’s disapproval was growing. “And you needn’t smirk,” he went on. “It is time you settled yourself down to some proper course of action as far as the opposite sex are concerned. You cannot simply flit this way and that; you are nine and twenty years old, and time is wasting, slipping through your fingers like fine sand.”

  “I hardly think I am in my dotage yet, Father.” James was light, but he knew his father had something of a point.

  “It is time you fathered an heir.”

  “Ought I not to find a wife first?”

  “Do not be flippant with me, James.” The Duke took two large tomatoes, another kidney, and two slices of the dreadful, floppy bacon. James was astounded as always by his father’s gluttony. “The time has come for you to settle down. Now, when you get back from this few days of foolishness over at Hanover Hall, I want to sit down with you and review a list of suitable young woman I have devised with the help of Charles Holt.”

  “Suitable for whom?” James said, and his tone became a little aggressive for the first time in their conversation.

  He detested the idea of having a woman presented to him and resented further still the idea that he would be expected to marry her, whoever she was.

  James would never be in the mood to accept such an obvious attack on his own liberty, his very freedom to choose for himself. The thought was sickening to him.

  As far as James was concerned, his father and the ruthless old attorney, Charles Holt, could draft as many lists as
they liked, for he would never choose a woman from them. Even if he liked one of the women, he would not have something so basic, so fundamental, dictated to him.

  “Suitable for all,” his father said in a final tone of voice.

  “Very well, I shall be ready to sit down and peruse your list as soon as I am returned from the east of the county,” James said with an inward stab of belligerence.

  James would only marry a woman of his own choosing, and only when he was good and ready to marry. And, as far as James was concerned, he was not going to be good and ready anytime soon.

  Chapter 2

  “Is Papa settled in?” Charlotte Cunningham said when her maid, Ruth, bustled into the chamber.