“Well, my mother died giving birth to me,” William said as he sat up straight on the edge of the chair. He was too afraid to sit back in it lest he leave a stain. It was bad enough his dirty garments were touching the leather at all. “When I was eight, my father, who worked in the mines, died during a cave-in.” He blinked back tears. He had not thought of his father in years, and it was difficult to speak of him even so many years later. “So, you see, I’m an orphan, and…” He could take it no longer; he had to confess to his wrongdoing. “Well, I know why you’re here, sir.”
“Do you?” the man asked with eyebrows raised high.
“Yes, of course.” William looked down at his dirty hands, shame coursing through his body. “You see, I was hungry, so hungry, and the apple looked so tempting that I couldn’t resist.” He looked up and gave Mr. Ludlow a beseeching look. “But I’ve saved all of the money I’ve made since I got this position, and I’ll repay the merchant—with interest—if it keeps me from prison.”
The man studied him for a moment and then chuckled. “This has nothing to do with fruit, Mr. Hawkins.” He sat back in the chair and seemed to study William. “So, you are an orphan who found employment here. That is the story of your life?”
“It’s not much of a story, I know, but it’s the truth. I’ve worked at other places before I came here, but those didn’t last all that long. I was young and the shops that allowed me to sweep floors or wash windows didn’t much like a boy who had no place to take a decent bath in their fine establishments. I think the only reason they let me do some of the jobs was because they took pity on me.” He knew his face had to be a bright red, for his face felt on fire. Taking charity had never been something he enjoyed, but sometimes one had to do so if he meant to survive.
Mr. Ludlow sipped at his tea, still studying William. This, of course, only made William wiggle in his seat. Would the man not get on with it? “So, I’m not in trouble?” he asked in some sort of attempt to move the conversation along. William had work to do.
“Far from it,” Mr. Ludlow replied. The man rose and walked over to one of the windows. “Do you mind if I share a story with you?”
“Not at all, sir,” William said. “I like to hear about other people’s lives. I find it all so fascinating.”
The man nodded. “Many years ago, a man of great wealth, a Duke in all actuality, had an argument with his son. You see, the son wished to marry a woman of common stock, which displeased his father greatly. However, the son loved the woman so much, he would not relent and finally walked away from both title and wealth.”
William scratched his head. “He really loved that woman, then?”
Mr. Ludlow turned from the window. “He did. Therefore, they were wed and vowed never to return to that life. The older man, having only the one son and who had lost his wife many years before, decided to remain alone. His wealth grew, and when he passed away a year ago, there was no one to take the title.”
William drank the last of his tea in an attempt to cover his wonderment as to why this man was sharing this story with him. Then it dawned on him and he felt a surge of pride rush through him. “I understand. This man’s estate needs a gardener, and you have heard about the work I have done here.” He jumped up, excited. “As you can see, I do have reason to brag.” He could see it now, head gardener at an estate as grand as Millweed. No, grander! Thomas would be so proud!
“No,” Mr. Ludlow said with a light chuckle. “I do not need you to attend to the gardens.”
“Then I don’t understand, Mr. Ludlow. What does this all have to do with me? I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to get the rest of the flowers planted or Lord Garvey will have my hide, and I can’t afford to lose this position.”
“You see, I knew both father and son,” Mr. Ludlow said as he walked over to William. “I served the father for the last forty years as both business adviser and friend. Upon his death, it was my duty to find his grandson, the son of the man who abandoned everything for the love of a woman.” The man placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “Today, I have found him.”
Realization came over William and his jaw dropped. “You mean…that person is me? I’m the grandson?”
The man gave him a wide smile. “Yes, Your Grace, it is you.”
William plopped back down into the chair, this time not caring whether he dirtied it or not. A Duke? What in the world would he do with a Dukedom?
***
“Duke or not, you’re still a gardener,” Thomas said, though his words held little bite.
William laughed as he placed the last few personal items into a bag. “That I am, my friend,” he said and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. He had few instances in which he had to say farewell to a friend, but it was never an easy feat, even now. He handed Thomas a small bag. “This is for you. May it help you get your cottage.”
Thomas opened the bag and peered inside. His eyes widened. “I can’t take this,” he gasped as he shoved it back toward William.
“If what Mr. Ludlow says is true, which I believe it is.” He leaned in, lowered his voice, and gave Thomas a wide grin. “And with the way the Baron’s been treating me since Mr. Ludlow showed up, I don’t doubt it even a bit. Please, my friend, take it. You have always treated me right, and I want to do this for you. Keep saving and one day you’ll have that cottage you’ve always wanted.”
“Thank you,” the old man said as he wiped a tear from his eye. “You mind yourself now. And watch out for those people; we both know how they are.”
“I do know,” William replied. “I’ll write you and have you visit soon enough.” He walked out of the tiny room he had called home for the past four years. It seemed strange to be leaving a place he loved, but he could not help but feel a sense of excitement for the new life that awaited him.
As he rounded the corner of the house, he stopped mid-step and gaped. A large carriage with curtained windows and lacquered doors sat in front of the house, Mr. Ludlow standing beside it.
When the man saw William, he smiled. “Your Grace,” he said and then gave William a deep bow before opening the door for him.
“Grace,” Thomas said with a laugh from behind William. “He’s a lazy gardener is what he is.” Though the words sounded harsh, the tone behind them emanated warmth and caring.
William laughed, gave Thomas a final wave farewell, and then took the step up into the carriage. A moment later, Mr. Ludlow followed and closed the door behind them. The carriage had cushioned seats that were even more comfortable than the tiny bed he slept on in the room he shared with Thomas. It was as if the creator of the vehicle had taken the softest down from the best goose to fill the cushions. William considered that the seats would make a wonderful bed.
When the carriage began to move, William stuck his head out the open window and waved at Thomas, who remained standing beside the house. Although the man attempted to hide them, tears sparkled in his eyes. William would miss Thomas very much, and he hoped that one day he would be able to help him in some fashion.
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” William said as he sat back into the soft cushioned seat.
“There is still much more to share,” Mr. Ludlow said. “For you are about to enter a world you have never known before.”
With a smile, William sat up, ready to listen. No matter what lay ahead, as Thomas had said, he was a gardener and would always remain so. Even if he had more money than he knew what to do with.
Chapter Two
Marianne Blithe summoned all of her patience as she attempted to focus on the words of Mr. Duncan Sharp, the man who was currently walking beside her in the garden. Mr. Sharp had called over twice before, and though the man was somewhat handsome, he was completely and utterly a bore.
“So you see, it is quite simple, really,” he was saying at the moment. “A man should hunt and seek other such activities as a means for relaxation. To not do so would only cause him greater harm later in life. I have seen it all too
often with older men. They become sickly, have issues of the heart, stomach, and nerves simply because they have chosen a life of only work.”
They stopped at the end of the path, Marianne’s mother a few paces behind them in the form of a chaperone. Marianne offered the man a smile. “It is fine to seek ways of relaxation as one sees fit. However, do you not enjoy reading as a means of escaping into another part of the world? Or even to escape from the world entirely?”
Mr. Sharp gave a half-snort, and Marianne came to realize that nothing about the man was relatable. At the age of three and twenty, she was nearing spinsterhood, and if she did not find a husband soon, she feared her parents would arrange a marriage for her. Their idea of a suitable husband for her stood beside her, as had many before him, and she found every one of them either as dry as dust or so self-absorbed they would never take notice of her.
“Books of business most certainly are enjoyable,” Mr. Sharp replied. “But those for pleasure? Such books are for the simpleminded to spend their time in idleness. I want my time for recreation to be more active. I spent too many years sitting for hours on end reading books during my school years; I do not need to waste any more time on such drivel.”
She went to rebut, but seeing movement from the corner of her eye, she turned and smiled as the family’s gardener, Neil, came walking their way. He was older, at least in his mid-sixties, with a gray beard and a crooked smile that never left his face, but despite his age, his skills in the garden were wonderful. Marianne adored the man. When she was younger, she would find herself talking to him as he worked. Even as recently as last week, she had come out to sit nearby to exchange polite words with the man as he clipped away the dying roses from a nearby rose bush.
The man came to a stop and bowed awkwardly. “Miss Blithe,” he said, the tools he carried in his arms tumbling to the ground, one of which landed on Marianne’s foot.
“Ow!” she cried, her big toe throbbing.
Neil gasped in horror. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he said, hurrying to collect the fallen tools.
Mr. Sharp stepped forward to grab the collar of the poor gardener. “You old fool!” he spat. “You should be ashamed of yourself, hurting her. I shall see to it that the you are removed from your position and thrown off his property immediately!”
Marianne’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the pain in Neil’s eyes. She was quite aware that in most homes servants were regarded as beneath those who owned the houses. If that was what people wished in their own homes, then so be it; however, she would not allow it to happen in hers.
“Mr. Sharp, apologize this instant,” she hissed. Mr. Sharp’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Although Neil is employed by my father, he is also a friend of mine,” she said. “What happened was an accident, so there is no need to treat him in such a harsh manner.”
“He’s right, Miss, I am an old fool,” Neil said in a sad tone. “It’s fine. I’ll be on my way to collect my things and go.”
“No,” Marianne said, placing a hand on the man’s arm before he could leave. Then she turned and gave Mr. Sharp an expectant look. “Mr. Sharp?”
“Now, Marianne,” her mother said as she walked up to the trio, “Mr. Sharp is only looking out for your wellbeing.”
“No, I will apologize,” Mr. Sharp said before turning to the gardener, though his tone was as tight as the coat he wore. “My apologies, Neil. It is true that I was simply concerned for Miss Blithe’s safety and nothing more.”
Neil stood gaping at Mr. Sharp for one quick moment before nodding and hurrying off, the heavy tools tightly pressed against his chest.
As they continued their stroll, Marianne’s mother fell back once again, and Marianne glanced at the man beside her. He was still fuming at being forced to apologize, or so she suspected when she took notice of the tightness around his eyes and his pursed lips.
“My foot is fine,” she said as a way to assure him. “There will be no lasting damage.”
“That is not the point,” he said in a strained tone as he forced them to stop once again. “Servants must be put in their place when they do wrong. If we allow them to get away scot-free with such disrespectful behavior, it only encourages them to show less care.”
Anger rose up in Marianne, and she had to bite her tongue lest she embarrasses not only herself but her mother, as well.
Her father’s voice brought her attention behind them. “Sharp, how are you this fine day?” he asked as he came to stand beside Marianne’s mother.
“Very well, Sir,” Mr. Sharp replied. “I am glad you are here, for I wished to make a request to call by again in a week’s time.”
Marianne held back a sigh of frustration. She did not want to see this man again, but she knew her father somehow liked him. However, she gave her father a pleading look, and he gave her a small smile.
“Unfortunately,” her father said, “Marianne will not be available.” Marianne’s heart leapt with joy. “She and her mother will be away visiting her aunt, who I am sad to say is in ill health.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Madam,” Mr. Sharp said.
Marianne scrunched her brow. Her aunt in ill health? She had seen the woman not a month earlier, and the only condition she had was a drunken stare.
“Well, then perhaps when they return?”
“Of course,” her father said before giving Marianne a tiny smile. Although he had done it many times before, this smile was different. In it he hid something, a surprise.
“Well, I believe it is time for Marianne and me to return to the house,” her mother said as she looked up at the clear sky. “You know how bad the sun is for our skin.”
The two men bowed to Marianne and her mother as they walked away.
“Aunt Linda is ill?” Marianne asked with concern. “When did you find out?”
Her mother chuckled quietly. “You will understand shortly,” she said as they made their way back to the house.
***
Marianne and her mother returned to the parlor, and Marianne removed her gloves and placed them on the table beside the settee.
“Why is Father so cheerful?” Marianne asked. She found the nervousness she felt very unbecoming of a woman such as herself, and she was never one to enjoy waiting. Since a very young age she struggled with patience, and it was highly unlikely she would accept it anytime soon.
Rather than responding, her mother gave her a coy smile as she pulled the bell chord that would summon Charlene to them and said nothing, which only irritated Marianne all the more.
“Oh, mother, surely you can tell me something of what has caused Father’s excitement. I could see he has some sort of secret to tell.”
Her mother gave a light laugh. “My daughter, I do love you, but do not think I would not hesitate to sell you off to the first ship to America.”
“Mother!” Marianne gasped with feigned indignation. Mrs. Catherine Blithe had fiery red hair and a temper to match, a stark contrast to Marianne’s blond hair and calm demeanor. It was not that her mother was a harsh woman, but it did not take much to ignite it.
Now, however, Marianne knew her mother did not mean what she said. When Marianne was a young girl, she had threatened to run off on a passing ship to America when she was not allowed a sweet before supper, and thus the saying had become a loving barb between the two women once Marianne had grown.
“Here comes your father now,” her mother said, still refusing to acknowledge Marianne’s question. Marianne heard the heavy steps in the hall, and a moment later, her father entered the room and joined them by the fireplace.
“Sharp is a good man,” he said with a grunt as he sat in a dark-green wing chair. He had insisted that he have what he termed a ‘manly’ chair that could be his amongst the distinctively feminine mauves and blues the remaining seating exhibited, even if it did not match the décor one bit. “He is a bright boy with a fine future.”
These words caused Marianne’s stomach to clench. Was her father going to announce
she was to marry the man? She certainly hoped not, for she barely knew him. Nor she did love him.
“He is,” Marianne conceded. The man was a good man. “He will most certainly make a wonderful husband to some woman. However, that woman is not me. I am still searching for the right suitor, but I know for certain that man is not him.” She forced a rigidness in her back that she did not feel as she awaited her father’s inevitable rebuke.
Yet, that rebuke did not come, much to Marianne’s surprise. Instead, the man gave a heavy sigh and said, “Yes, I am reminded often that you seek the…what do you call it? ‘The love of your life’? Like the heroes in those books you read.” He accepted the cup of tea his wife offered him and took a sip. “Thank you, my dear. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes, love. Well, those characters do not exist in the world. You do understand that, correct?”
Marianne would never defy her father, for he was a good and kind man. Therefore she simply nodded, although she did not truly agree. They had had this same conversation on several occasions, and when she had disagreed with him, he would have none of it. What was the point of making the same arguments now? A handsome man awaited her somewhere; he simply had not had the chance to meet her as of yet. However, one day, he would come into her life and she would know immediately that he was the man she was to marry.
“George, perhaps you should explain to Marianne the purpose of this gathering,” Lady Blithe said.
Marianne set her teacup on the table to keep from spilling its contents down the front of her dress. She had to force herself not to wring her hands as she placed them in her lap.
Her father grunted, placed his teacup on the table beside where Marianne had just set hers, and placed his hands on his knees. “Marianne, as you know, I have run my business with the utmost dignity and fairness,” he began.
Return of the Duke: Regency Hearts Book 2 Page 2