The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess_A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  Lucy had tears in her eyes when she asked, “Brother, is that anger spent, or does it still crouch within you waiting to be unleashed again at any moment?”

  Harold turned his eyes to her. “You need not fear, dear sister. I cannot say with absolute certainty, but after I was cheated out of my inheritance and I took all I could from the house of my dead parents, I felt like a bird released from a cage.”

  “But Harold, you were still a thief,” George said, “a lawbreaker, and I cannot turn a blind eye to that fact.”

  “I understand,” Harold said, putting his shirt back on. “And if there is any way I can make restitution, I shall. I will do anything I can to keep in your good graces. Can you advise me on how to do that?”

  George turned away and began to pace, obviously trying to come up with a solution.

  Lucy then asked, “Do you know whom you have wronged? Would you be able to contact specific individuals and return what you have taken?

  Harold finished putting on his coat and said, “Many infractions were minor, and I have no recollection of who I wronged. I could repay the money to the person I stole the watch from. And there are many small sums I could return if I could recollect the individuals’ names. But many are lost in time. And as for my father, he is dead.”

  “But there must be an estate you could contact,” Lucy suggested.

  “There must be, but I would have to find out about that. However, I shall and will make a complete accounting to them and repay with money, although I long ago disposed of the property.” He turned back to George. “But I could only do that if I were able to continue working for you, Your Grace. Is that possible? Would you consider it?”

  “There is yet one issue we have not discussed, Harold.”

  “Yes?”

  “Betsy. What are your intentions toward my sister? You know she cares for you deeply, and I need to know what your thoughts are toward her.”

  “I had hoped, shortly, to ask for her hand in marriage. I care for her deeply as I believe she does for me.”

  “Is it Betsy you care for or her dowry, Harold?” George asked pointedly.

  “I can understand why you would ask that, Your Grace, but believe me when I say it is Betsy alone that I care for.”

  Again, George paced and when he had finished thinking he turned back to Harold.

  “I do believe you love my sister. I have seen the two of you together, and it is clear to me that the feelings of love are mutual. Then this is what I propose—if you, to the best of your ability, make a definite plan for restitution for all damage you have done, I will continue to employ you as my estate manager. But I will make certain that payments are made out of your wages on a regular basis until all is repaid. Will you agree to that?”

  “I will, Your Grace.”

  “And further, if you do marry Betsy, I shall withhold her dowry until the very last penny, farthing has been paid of your restitution.”

  “But how shall I support her?”

  “You may continue to reside at Grayson Manor with her until your encumbrance has been discharged. After that, I will release the dowry, and you may be free to live wherever you like—as long as it is a suitable situation for Betsy.”

  “And what of my legal obligations?”

  “Since no person was seriously injured by your actions—and considering your father’s behavior toward you and your mother—I see no reason to involve any public authorities.”

  “Your Grace,” Harold said gratefully nodding to George.

  Harold then turned to Lucy. “My darling sister, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

  Lucy lowered her head and closed her eyes for a moment before answering, “I have to say I was surprised when I learned of your past. But I am devastated by what happened to you and so grateful that you chose to seek me out. I truly believe you wish to make a stable life for yourself now and I do forgive you.”

  “And you forgive that I lied about offering you a dowry that I cannot supply?”

  Lucy snuck a quick glance at George, and then said, “I can adjust my expectations.”

  Harold then took her in his arms, and they held on to each other for a long time, and when they were done, Harold turned back to George.

  “Your Grace, I shall begin immediately to prepare the repayment schedule you require and will submit it to you within the week. And tomorrow morning I shall be back at my post as estate manager and serve you to the very best of my ability.”

  “And what are you going to tell Betsy of our meeting this evening?” Lucy asked.

  “She deserves to know everything,” Harold said. “But I should like to tell her in my own time and in my own way.”

  Lucy looked over at George and he nodded his assent, and then he added, “As long as you tell her before you propose. I feel she must be free to judge your actions for herself before she accepts your hand in marriage.”

  “I agree,” Lucy said.

  Harold bowed his head in agreement.

  “And now if you will both excuse me, I should like to retire to lick my wounds,” he said with a slight smile. “I have a great deal to contend with, and I must prepare myself for my new reality. Good evening.”

  George and Lucy were left alone. It had been a stressful evening for both of them, and they stood looking at each other and smiled in a moment of relief that it was over.

  “I hope this evening has not been too difficult for you?” George asked.

  “It was not easy, but it was necessary. Thank you for handling the matter in such a mature way. I believe you even surpassed your father’s wisdom, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Lucy.”

  “And now begins the healing—for all of us, I trust.”

  “You know, having Harold as the estate manager, frees me to begin my painting again. I have a lot of work to do to prepare for the autumn show. I would love it if you were to join me again in the studio with your writing. I somehow feel our working silently together helps each of us with our creativity.”

  “I should like that. I definitely need to restart my writing, and I can certainly use all the help I can get.”

  “Then let it be so.”

  After his meeting with Harold, George had gone to his mother to apprise her of the situation with Harold and explained what had been agreed upon. It was only right she should know.

  He was pleased she took the news with little of her usual fuss. In fact, she seemed to welcome the news.

  Chapter 35

  There were to be thirty for dinner—a modest supper, her Grace called it, downplaying its true purpose of providing a venue as a marriage market. Her Grace was determined to get at least one proposal this evening even if she needed to wrestle Mr. Goodwin to the floor with her own hands.

  “George, we have a situation,” Mother said at breakfast after she was alone with her son at the table.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “The dinner this evening has a veiled purpose,” she announced carefully folding her napkin and smoothing it out on the table.

  “I was wondering about that. You have been so strict about observing this time of mourning; I began to suspect ulterior motives as soon as the dinner was announced.”

  “We can no longer dilly-dally about with your sisters’ marriages. It is time to be decisive.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and as a most particular favor, I need Lucy to be otherwise employed this evening. She is far too distractive, and I need the focus to be on your sisters—and in particular with regard to Mr. Goodwin. I am to have a word with him before, and I expect he will find it to his advantage to make an offer of marriage this very evening.”

  “Bribery?”

  “George, do not be so crass. But I can be most persuasive.”

  “And have you spoken to Lucy about this request?”

  “That is where I wish you to intercede for me. She will listen to you, while she will be in open rebellion if I were to ask.”

  George sighed.
“Very well, then. But if Lucy is not to attend, I also shall not be able to attend.”

  Her Grace pursed her lips and took a last sip of tea. “Why must you be so contrary, George?”

  “Because you continue to act so maliciously toward her.”

  “I had particularly hoped you would spend some time with Miss Priscilla this evening. She is so charming and the very model of a future Duchess. Surely, you can please me just this once?”

  “Mother, there is never pleasing you just once. You never cease to amaze me at how blind and insensitive you can be to my wishes.”

  “Oh, George, all I ever do is think about what is best for you.”

  “No, Mother, you think about what is best for you.”

  “How can you be so ungrateful?” she said, shaking out her napkin again and dabbing at her eyes. “Very well, if the only way to get you to attend the dinner is to have Miss Lucy in attendance, so be it. But she shall be placed at the far end of the table, and Miss Priscilla shall be placed to your right. And as for Mr. Goodwin, I shall take care of him before Miss Lucy presents herself.”

  As the guests were arriving before dinner, Stevens took Mr. Goodwin aside when he and his sister arrived.

  “Sir, her Grace would like a private word with you.”

  “Very well,” Beaumont said as he removed his hat and gloves and handed them to Stevens.

  “You will find her in the library. This way, if you please?”

  Stevens took Mr. Goodwin to the library and ushered him inside.

  “Over here,” the Duchess called out from an alcove filled with shelves of books.

  “Your Grace, you wished to have a word with me?” he said as he approached her where she was standing, holding a book.

  “Yes. And not to beat around the bush, I have a proposition for you.”

  This took Beaumont by surprise, and he could not help but chuckle. “What did you have in mind, Your Grace?”

  The Duchess put the book away, left the alcove, and came over and took Mr. Goodwin by the arm.

  “You have always seemed to be a very sensible young man to me. Pragmatic, I should say.”

  “I believe that is accurate.”

  “Good. Then let us sit for a few moments and let me outline what is going to happen this evening.”

  They sat opposite each other in comfortable chairs.

  “There is a glass of sherry at your elbow, Mr. Goodwin. Please make yourself comfortable.”

  Beaumont picked up the glass and took a sip.

  “I am listening.”

  “How does ten thousand pounds sound, Mr. Goodwin?”

  He paused before speaking. “It sounds agreeable. But what does that have to do with me?”

  “That is what I am offering you, on top of my daughter Charlotte’s dowry of five thousand a year.”

  “But my interests lie elsewhere,” Beaumont said, as a matter of factly.

  “But Mr. Goodwin, you are such a practical man. Certainly, you can see the advantages. You know, Miss Lucy has no dowry. It seems her brother is not the fine gentleman we believed him to be. Apparently, he is unable to follow through on his promise of granting a living to her and so she comes with nothing what-so-ever.”

  Beaumont did not respond but took another sip of sherry.

  “Fifteen thousand plus her five thousand a year,” he countered.

  The Duchess looked down at her lap. “I believe that could be arranged—but only if you make the proposal this evening. The offer disappears at midnight just like Cinderella’s magical pumpkin coach.”

  “Would a late spring wedding be agreeable, Mother?” he asked as he stood and offered the Duchess, his hand.

  In passing, as they entered the dining room, Mother alerted Charlotte to be ready for a pleasant surprise sometime that evening.

  Lucy came in on her brother’s arm, but he had managed to sit next to Betsy on his other side, and they spent most of the evening with their heads close together in intimate conversation.

  Lucy was granted the privilege of chatting with the Vicar who, when he learned that she was a writer, regaled her with his thoughts on publishing a book of his sermons.

  Lucy could not help but notice that the daughters, while still wearing mourning dresses, had their appearances ever so subtly enhanced to make them look more adorable. All, that is, except for Ann who was more dower than usual, without even the semblance of a smile, or a trace of rouge.

  Lucy could also not help but notice that George was at the far end of the table and chatting amiably with Miss Priscilla, who was all ribbons and bows, and ringlets of enhanced reddish hair. It was clear to Lucy now that there could no longer be any thought of a union with George without her brother’s promised dowry. She had no doubt that the Duchess had gotten her way and George would soon be asking Miss Goodwin for her adorable, petite hand in marriage. The Duchess was on the other side of George and was clearly directing the conversation to her satisfaction.

  Lucy had noticed that Mr. Goodwin had not tried to speak to her even once this evening, and now he was seated next to Charlotte and giving her his full attention—all smiles, light touches on the arm, and casual laughter.

  While carrying on a continued light conversation with the Vicar, Lucy was resigning herself to the fact that her writing was now going to be the focus of her life. At least she did not need to fear expulsion from the manor now that Harold was ensconced as the manager, and hopefully, would be marrying Betsy.

  It was so obvious to George that his mother was pushing him toward Miss Priscilla. Not that he was surprised. He continued, as a good host, to chat and smile with the young lady, and every time he glanced at his mother she gave him an encouraging smile and directed the conversation back to Priscilla.

  But his attention was not only on Miss Priscilla. He managed to keep an eye on Mr. Goodwin and Charlotte and Harold and Betsy. He could see that his mother might be successful, at least in those two quarters. It amused him that Mr. Goodwin had not given a single moment of attention to Lucy. Whatever his mother had said to him was obviously successful, and he believed Charlotte would soon be engaged.

  Lucy had been seated way down at the other end of the table, as far away from Mr. Goodwin as possible, and while she looked to be engaged in conversations, it was not the usual scintillating Miss Lucy he was observing.

  He was in a strange state of divided mind. He found he was carrying on a normal conversation with Miss Priscilla while at the same time being detached. It was like a part of him was floating high above the dinner table looking down on all the guests at once. He felt that if he focused, he could enter into any conversation that was going on whenever he wished. And at the same time, he found himself in his studio painting, standing across from Lucy who was engaged quietly in her writing—both in a state of profound peace.

  His mother touched his arm, and he snapped out of this multi-dimensional reverie and turned his attention to her.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Miss Priscilla asked you a question, George, where have you been?” the Duchess asked.

  George smiled softly and said, “In my studio. Doing what I should be doing right now.”

  His mother looked puzzled. “George you are talking nonsense.”

  George stood and addressed his mother, “No. This is your little dog and pony show—not mine.” He turned to Priscilla and, taking her hand, kissed it, saying, “Miss Priscilla. As charming as you are, I am afraid you shall never win my heart. You must excuse me. I have pressing business to attend to elsewhere. I hope you have a delightful rest of your evening.” And he turned and left the dining room to an astonished Duchess and a nearly tearful Miss Priscilla.

  After the dinner was over and the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the library for coffee, her Grace hovered nearby where Mr. Goodwin and Charlotte were seated on the far side of the library away from most of the other guests.

  Mr. Goodwin caught her eye for a moment and looked back to Charlotte who was coyly lower
ing her eyes in anticipation of the next crucial moment.

  “I am sorry I have been so otherwise engaged,” Mr. Goodwin said. “Coming down to Dorset from London, I needed to attend to my mother while she was staying with us. But now that she has returned, I am able to free my mind and concentrate on what really matters to me. Do you understand my meaning?” he asked seductively.

  “I believe I do, Mr. Goodwin,” Charlotte said, flushed and almost quivering with anticipation.