Madcap Miss

by Claudy Conn

  He colored up again and fumbled with his words, finally asking, “What’s to do then?”

  She linked her arm through his and started walking toward the woodland path that would take them to the stables. “I don’t know yet, Scotty-lad, I just don’t know, but I do know this: I won’t be taken against my will to Swindon.”

  “Egad, no,” her friend agreed.

  ~ Two ~

  GLEN ASHTON, PRESENT Duke of Somerset, took his fence flying, landed in the open field that would take him back to his late uncle’s—now his—stables, and brought his large black gelding to a gentle stop.

  Lady Daphne Waverly, the duke’s sister, stood at the large panoramic window and watched her brother. He sat his horse well—a natural born to the saddle, she thought.

  He was the very broth of a man at nine and twenty. He was tall, athletic in build, handsome of face, and everything any woman could want. She sighed over the facts because she wished she could see him suitably matched and happy, if only he would cooperate.

  She watched him pat his horse’s neck, his silver-laced black hair blowing around his uncovered head, and sighed again as she wondered how many hearts he had disappointed when he would not come up to scratch and offer for the hands he had kissed.

  She knew he had never wanted to be the duke. His cousins had been in line before him, but they had both been killed at Waterloo … and now their uncle had passed on and the dukedom had come to Glen.

  He had been fond of their fidgety old uncle and knew the tragic death of the elderly man’s sons would hurt, but it had sent him into a depression from which he had never recovered.

  Now, Glen had to step up to his new title and extraordinary wealth. He wasn’t happy about it. She knew he didn’t want all the responsibilities that came with a dukedom. He had been enjoying a carefree life with just enough of the ‘ready’ to keep him comfortable. Now he had far too many homes, too much land, too many tenants to remember … on and on he had complained to her just the night before.

  She had agreed to attend him at Somerset as he made the transition into his new position, but she was already missing her Freddy.

  She had, however, brought a list of things that needed attention. She was his elder, and she knew he loved her and would listen to her about some matters though not about others. The trick was to find a happy middle ground.

  It would take some doing, but, in the end, she knew he would do what needed to be done. Even now, here was Mr. Curtis waiting on him, and he was late! She turned, patted her soft curls of auburn, and said, “I see my brother now, coming up the drive, sir.”

  “Aye, do you? Well, he is already ten minutes late,” Mr. Curtis said impatiently. “I am not used to this sort of treatment. His uncle was ever punctual.”

  She said nothing to this and stopped herself from rolling her eyes but thought, Oh no, this is not a very good start.

  * * *

  Glen Ashton, present duke of Somerset, walked into the library, where a lovely fire burned, and put out his arms for his sister.

  He adored Daphne, even though she was a bit of a stickler. She was pretty and scarcely looked more than five and twenty though her years were five and thirty. She was still slim and lively, though at times a bit sad, as she and her Freddy had not been fortunate enough to have children.

  She was a warm-hearted creature, and if she would only stop lecturing him, he would enjoy her company always.

  He could see Curtis looking irritated and not trying to hide it as he turned from his sister, who was introducing him to the solicitor. He took Curtis’s extended hand with a polite greeting and then stepped away, moving to the small fire burning in the grate.

  He inclined his head as his sister approached, and once again he put out his arms to give her a hug.

  “Mr. Curtis has been waiting a good fifteen minutes, Glen,” she said reprovingly.

  The duke looked towards his solicitor and said, “Do forgive me, Mr. Curtis. I lost track of time, but I see you have enjoyed a cup of tea with my sister.”

  Curtis allowed this and conceded, “Ah, yes, and excellent company she is.”

  Daphne went to her lady’s chair, sat, and raised the pot of tea. “Tea, dearest?” she asked her brother.

  “No, thank you,” he said and moved to sit across from Curtis in a winged leather chair. “I suppose Curtis here would like to get on with it.” He knew he wanted to do so. He was heartily sick of all the pomp, ceremony, absurdities of paperwork, and other such legal things.

  Mr. Curtis, who had stood to greet the duke and shake his hand, took a place on the dull maroon damask sofa, spreading his coat tails and sighing before saying, “Your Grace, there are a few matters we must discuss.”

  “I am sure there are,” the duke responded quietly.

  “These matters can no longer be put off,” Curtis continued and waved off the plate of pastry Lady Daphne offered his way.

  Daphne smiled and set the plate back down. The duke raised a brow and waited.

  “I mean to take the liberty afforded me by my age and my long service to your late uncle. I believe that your duty is at hand and cannot be put off any longer.”

  The young duke’s lips set firmly. He would not be dictated to. However, because mentally he allowed Curtis had a point, he did not respond at that juncture. Besides that, he knew just what was coming.

  “I have spoken to you about this matter once before. You owe it to your uncle’s memory not to neglect it.”

  “My uncle, I believe, neglected the matter of which you speak for nearly a year,” the duke interjected.

  “Your uncle was too ill to get about as he wished. After he lost his sons … he was … despondent,” Curtis answered quietly.

  The duke raised his chin, but the point was well taken. There was nothing for it. He was trapped in a position he would not be able to escape from at all.

  “I thought you comprehended the severity of the situation? I thought you understood what your duty in this regard was?” Curtis said on a grave note of disapproval.

  “I advised you that m’sister would be more than willing to attend to the matter for me—”

  Curtis cut him off sharply. “I am afraid that the law will not allow it. Your uncle specifically passed the guardianship of his ward to you!” Curtis’s faded eyes were leveled at the duke. “If Your Grace will but read this, it may explain, for it was written to me just one day before your uncle passed on.”

  Reluctantly, the duke took up the ivory sheet of paper to read:

  Dearest Curtis:

  If you are reading this, I will have finally, thankfully passed.

  See to this for me. My ward, Felicia Easton, runs wild, I am told. I have been deceived and thought her properly supervised at her Easton Manor home. My body will no longer serve my mind.

  My honor requires that the matter be given immediate attention, but I don’t think I have long, as I am bent on joining my wife and my sons. This world has no lure for me any longer.

  Glen has been on the town too long. He needs some settling, and though I know with a crook of the finger the boy would attend me, I’d rather he did it from his own sense of duty. I should like the girl to be given a London season, but first … tell him to stop by that little place I have … I can’t remember the name of the town, but the house needs refurbishing I am told. See to it. Glen can take Daphne and my ward with him, to have a look at it.

  I leave the delicate handling of this matter in your very capable hands.

  Arthur

  Duke of Somerset

  Glen Ashton’s jaw pulsated as he gritted his teeth and composed himself.

  He had been fond of his uncle. He felt for him, for his loss, for the fact that the old man wanted to die, but he disliked being ‘handled’.

  The young duke stared at nothing at all for a long moment. Even so, why had he not been told that his uncle’s ward had been left alone? That did need attention. His honor, his loyalty to his late uncle, demanded he repair that situ
ation at once.

  The duke turned his attention to the solicitor and asked, his voice low and tinged with annoyance, “Why, Curtis, when you told me about Uncle Arthur’s ward and that he hadn’t seen her for over a year, you never said she was alone. Why didn’t you show me this letter sooner?”

  The lawyer shook his head sadly. “I don’t know how it happened, but this sealed letter went first to our London offices and was set aside for me where it evidently got buried under a pile of post that needed attention. No doubt my staff believed I would attend to my mail on one of my weekly visits to town.” He sighed heavily and added, “Your uncle’s death was a source of great sadness to me as well as to you, my boy. We had, over the years, become friends. Last week, when this note came to my attention, I immediately sent you a letter regarding your uncle’s ward.”

  Glen pulled at his bottom lip. “I did not receive it.” He frowned, for he had spent a convivial week with friends in Rye.

  “Oh, Glen,” Daphne moaned, “that poor child … all alone. What must she think? How has she managed?”

  “Daphne, I had no idea about her circumstances—”

  “What you mean is you did not even read Mr. Curtis’s letter, did you?” snapped his sister.

  Glen felt his cheeks burn. He had arrived home and found a pile of mail that needed attending and had not bothered to even sort it out. He felt ashamed all at once. Everything had happened so quickly—his uncle’s death and the looming responsibility of a dukedom all had hit him hard, and he had taken off for Rye immediately after the funeral.

  Besides that, he had completely forgotten that his uncle even had a ward, or that she might be alone somewhere. He clucked his tongue at himself and shook his head. “Daff … I had no idea.” He eyed her. “Perhaps between us we can manage this.”

  “Between us?” she returned in horror. “What do you mean between us?”

  He tried cajolery. “Daff, you can’t expect the poor girl to go off with me alone, now can you?”

  Reluctantly she conceded, “No, but you can hire a governess of sorts. How old is she?”

  “She will turn one and twenty in the near future,” Mr. Curtis said gravely.

  “Ah, well, that settles it. She can’t be seen to travel with me alone, now can she?”

  “This is not my problem,” Daphne insisted. “I don’t want to be away from Freddy and London any longer than I must.”

  “Look, if I am to fetch her to London for a season, I need some help. I mean, what in blazes do I know about launching a debutante? You must see that, Daffy. I’ll give her to you.”

  Daphne made a strong sound indicating her objection, but Mr. Curtis immediately offered reasonably, “Indeed. She will need a hostess to accompany her about … Almack’s and all those sort of things.”

  “Daphne … you must help. If it is my duty, it is no less yours,” the duke said pleadingly.

  Daphne balked and said in horrified accents, “Give her to me … see her launched? My duty? How is it my duty when she is your ward? Oh no, no, no, and no again. I will not be made a matron before my time.”

  “I would imagine you might stand not a matron but a friend,” Curtis said gently. “You have youth enough, my lady, to make her comfortable, and from what I am told, you are highly respected by the haute ton’s leading hostesses.”

  “That is neither here nor there …” The Lady Daphne made an attempt, though a feeble one, before their peering gazes to extricate herself. “This is not my responsibility. And besides, I don’t want some pretty young thing bouncing around my house for my Freddy to be ogling!” At this she rose from her chair and stomped her foot.

  The duke laughed out loud as he got up and went to put a comforting arm about her. “Freddy adores you, sis. Doesn’t have eyes for any other woman, and you know it.”

  She pouted prettily. “Maybe, but he is a man. I don’t want him tempted in my own home.”

  “The Easton chit is the duke’s responsibility. She could reside with him in his town house with a duenna as chaperone,” Curtis offered doubtfully. “You would be on hand to take her shopping and introduce her to the ton and help her along … nothing more.”

  She eyed Curtis. “You say that knowing, absolutely knowing, that it would be most improper for a young lady to reside with my brother anywhere.”

  “Daphne is quite correct. She can’t reside with me. Mine is a bachelor lodging,” the duke said irritably. “Can’t have a twenty-year-old woman residing with me. Must see that—not acceptable.”

  “Yours, Duke, is the Somerset Town House in Kensington Square,” Curtis said, looking like a cat about to pounce. The duke immediately caught his game and smiled to himself.

  “No, she cannot reside with him, even in the duke’s townhouse. It just would ruin her,” Daphne said.

  “Ah, of course … not even with a duenna?” Curtis asked innocently.

  Daphne waved a hand at both of them. “Horrid, horrid men. I see what this is!”

  “Do you, dearest,” the duke said gently. “Then perhaps you will see that I have a problem here that you could help me solve.”

  “Yes, but, Glen,” his sister objected, “I … I … Oh, you horrid man.” She wagged finger. “You will have to take her about … waltz with her … show an interest.”

  “I will do all that you tell me,” her brother conceded at once.

  She folded her arms across her middle and made an unintelligible sound. “That would be something new!”

  ~ Three ~

  IT WAS SIX in the morning, and a low, thick mist masked the open field. The mist formed waves and patterns over the tall grass and wildflowers so that from a distance all one could see were misshapen goblins.

  Felicia smiled to herself as she imagined monsters taking shape and then returned her attention to the huntsman in his traditional scarlet coat up ahead of her. He put up his horn and encouraged his hounds in their exercise.

  They were a lovely pack of black-and-tan foxhounds, and they seemed intent on working the scent that had been laid out for them in their training exercise. Soon the cubbing season would begin, and they would be asked to show their merit.

  Felicia loved watching the hounds work with the huntsman and his whips. It was invigorating to ride out with them and put her troubles behind her. She stopped and thought that the entire scene looked like something caught out of time or out of a painting as they put their noses to the ground in the morning mist, their ears ever alert for instructions.

  She hugged her dark brown velvet hacking jacket to herself, for the morning chill went right to her bones as she sat her horse. As her hat kept slipping forward on her forehead, she had to peep under it to keep an eye on the changing terrain as they rode through brush and grass and weaved through the trees.

  Scott eyed her warily and said, “What is it, Flip? I can see those green gems of yours twinkling with mischief.”

  “Naught, just thinking that I can’t leave all this and go to Swindon. I simply can’t, and he can’t make me marry anyone I don’t want to marry.”

  “No,” agreed Scott. “Devilish place, Swindon. Don’t have a notion why he should want to take you there, and he can’t force you to marry—besides that, it would take time to post the banns and do it properly, and by that time you will come into your majority and his guardianship will be over.”

  “It doesn’t matter where he wants to take me. I don’t want to leave here. This is my home. This has all my … well, my parents’ keepsakes and …”

  “I know, Flip, I quite understand,” Scott said but abruptly had his attention diverted.

  Felicia also looked up with some excitement as an older hound, Cardigan, put up his nose and gave a wail. He had found the fresh scent of a fox. He wasn’t fooled by the scent laid the night before by the whips. He was an old timer and knew what he was about.

  For the next twenty minutes they gave chase with Cardigan leading the pack. Then, all at once he stopped, and the pack piled in around him, sniffing and cho
rtling because Mr. Fox had outfoxed them and vanished.

  Felicia laughed, and Scott pulled a face at her. “Not funny.”

  “Well, and it is,” she said. “Besides that, I never really want them to catch up with the poor little beauty. They are so smart and pretty.”

  “Poor beauty, indeed! Farmer Kettle wouldn’t agree with you. Why, your poor thing tore into his hen house last week just for fun and killed half a dozen of the beauties—just for sport.” He made a deep sound of disapproval. “Can’t have that, and what’s more, Flip, you know it. Little devil those foxes.”

  Felicia sighed. “No, I suppose when there is a culprit around, it must be handled.”

  The huntsman signaled that the exercising of the hounds was at an end, and Scott grinned and said, “Come on then, I’ll ride with you to Easton, and we can have a hearty breakfast.”

  “You already had a hearty breakfast when you came for me this morning,” she said with a laugh.

  “Have another.” He grinned.

  She looked at his tall, lanky form in the saddle and smiled affectionately. “I don’t know where you put it. Not an ounce of fat on you.”

  All at once, he took off, shouting over his shoulder, “Race you!”

  “Why, you horrid thing!” she shouted after him. “You started before me.” She put her horse into a canter and then a gallop as she gained ground.

  “Have to if I’m to beat you, vixen!” he called out merrily.

  They took their fence in unison and flying with more bravado than grace and only slowed when they had the Easton stables in sight.

  They had just dismounted when a groom came hurrying up to them and blurted out, “Miss … oi been woiting on ye this ’alf hour ’n’ more. Somethin’ terrible ’as ’appened.”

  “Whatever is wrong, Charlie?” Her brows went up as she considered the worried look on the lad’s face.

  “It’s the dook! They saw ’im, they did, down at Northport Village. They say ’is carriage ’as lost a wheel, yesterday it did, and it won’t be ready to move for some hours yet, but—”