The Duke's Bride (The Radcliffe Family Book 1)

by Lindsay Downs

  The Duke’s Bride

  The Radcliffe Family, Series

  By Lindsay Downs

  Published by TouchPoint Romance

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE DUKE’S BRIDE

  Copyright © 2016 LINDSAY DOWNS

  SECOND EDITION

  Cover Art Designed by Heidi Sieverding

  To the brave women and men of the US Armed Forces

  Chapter One

  With three days and two nights of hard riding on his war charger, Simon was ready to bring his journey to an end. He brought his beast, Mars, to a halt and gazed at the scene in front and to both sides. He stood in his stirrups to watch a large herd of sheep graze in the field. Simon scanned the forest that curled past the stables and down to the river looking for anything amiss. Nothing had changed.

  Retaking his seat, Simon thought back over the two years since he’d last ridden by the rampant lions which were situated atop matching stone pillars. They marked the entrance to the ducal palace. At that time, he’d ridden out as Simon, Marquis of Sheffield, and today he was riding back in as Simon, The Duke of Kettering.

  In the last letter he’d received from his mother, she had given him the sad news of his father’s passing. Simon remembered that day as if it was yesterday. He’d returned from a battle with the French, where he’d been wounded. On seeing the note, penned in his mother’s distinctive handwriting, he’d known without even reading it the news wasn’t good. But he’d not expected to learn of the sudden passing of the duke. Even now, all these months later thinking back to then left an unsettled emptiness in his heart for the great man. He could feel a tear, from sadness, roll down his cheek. With the sleeve of his shirt he wiped it away.

  She’d also informed him she had taken on a companion, a Lady Emma Carringham. He had been glad his mother wouldn’t be lonely until his return and if he approved of the lady, Simon would let her stay on. Only time would tell what would happen next.

  Raking his fingers through his unfashionably long hair, he laughed when he dragged several twigs and leaves out. He was a mess. Simon glanced down at his riding britches and shirt covered in dried mud, not that he minded since he’d gotten used to the dirt. He knew, or at least suspected, his mother wouldn’t be happy with his appearance. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he felt the beginnings of a beard which she wouldn’t like either.

  With any luck, he’d sneak into the palace and to his suite where he could clean up before presenting himself to the duchess. He’d slipped in unseen enough times over the years that he knew the best route. Not to mention which floorboards were loose and creaky. He’d slink in behind the barn, then follow the forecourt to the servant stairs.

  He found the trail leading from the pillars to the back of the stable overgrown, but he managed to work through the tall weeds. Quietly, he slipped in, put Mars in his stall, and was about to sneak out when-

  “And where do you think you’re going, Simon? You still have to groom that monster of yours.”

  The all too familiar voice stopped Simon dead in his tracks.

  Only three people dared to use his Christian name. His mother, the duchess, Mrs. Lee, his nanny turned housekeeper, and the man who’d found him now, Richmond—the one person Simon would rather not see at the moment.

  Simon had no choice but to turn and face the ducal stablemaster.

  Walking over, Simon wrapped his arms around the man, which was returned with an outward fondness. Taking a step back, Simon looked down at his old friend and former riding instructor.

  “I was just going to hunt down a brush,” Simon stated, realizing sneaking in hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “The brushes are right where they’ve always been.” One wiry brow lifted on the man’s face. “In a basket hanging on the front of each stall door. Now take care of Mars then you may skulk into the palace.”

  While brushing his horse, Simon heard what sounded like a dogcart being dragged into the stableyard. Peering out of the stall, he watched as a large pony was harnessed. He thought over the meaning and concluded that his mother’s companion would be doing tenant calls, as his mother had stated Lady Emma had been doing to help. He wondered which of the stable hands would be driving the cart, just as they had done with the duchess.

  Going back to finish taking care of his beast, he hurried, making sure there was fresh hay and water in the stall. He then hunted down Richmond and instructed the man to hold Mars’s grain for two hours and then only give him half a scoop.

  With his responsibility taken care of, Simon started for the door then stopped in the opening, seeing several maids and footmen carrying packages out to the cart. After several minutes, and when this Lady Emma Carringham didn’t make an appearance, he decided it was best he ventured in to see his mother. After bathing and in clean clothes, of course.

  He skirted the perimeter of the stableyard until he reached the servant entrance, grabbing for the handle when the door was yanked from his hold. He looked down into a soft blue gaze surrounded by delicate lashes that matched the light brown of her hair.

  Who was this young lady? It couldn’t be Lady Emma Carringham, could it? She’s much too young to be a companion.

  “Don’t just stand there with your mouth agape, carry those boxes to the cart,” she ordered him in an angelic voice.

  Simon skimmed his eyes along her slender arm and down her slight wrist to delicately long fingers, following where she pointed at several containers. He saw they were loaded with well-worn clothes. He wanted to laugh as many were his, but when he glanced back at her, the look she shot him told Simon he’d best keep any hint of humor from his expression. Her luscious lips parted, he guessed ready to berate him for being too slow, but he wasted no time. He bent, grabbed the packages, and followed her to the wagon.

  As they made their way across the stableyard, he studied her form. Slim at the waist with hips pleasantly proportioned to the rest of her body. He’d already gotten a good look at the milky tops of her breasts covered by the demure bodice of the deep blue gown.

  When they got to the cart, he set the boxes where she directed.

  “Thank you. You may go back to the kitchen.”

  “Thank you, m’ lady. I’ll do just that.”

  “Oh, but wait, that brings up an interesting point. It’s not meal time yet.” Her long lashes flitted across her perfectly sculpted cheeks.

  He thought over his words. “I came from London with His Grace’s horse, Mars, and Richmond told me to get something to eat.”

  Everything he’d told her had been true, except about Richmond. Until he learned who she was, he preferred to keep himself a secret. After giving her a slight bow he turned and retraced his steps.

  Back at the servant’s door, he barely made it in ten feet when he was met by the estate butler, Winston.

  “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to see you even if under this sad circumstance.”

  “Thank you. As you can see I’m in need of a bath, shave, and clean clothes before paying my respects to the duchess.”

  “You’ll find everything already in the ducal suite. As you’ve come without your valet, I assigned Edmond to assist you.”


  “Thank you. Harold should be here in a day or so as he’s coming with the trunks.”

  Simon took the back stairs to the second floor then marched down the corridor to where the ducal suite was located. When he got to the massive twin solid oak doors, he stood for a moment, took in a calming breath, then pushed them open. A deep sadness, once again, overtook him. This had been the room where his parents had slept. Did he really have the right to invade this sacred area? His temporary valet stepped into view, bowing.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace. Everything has been prepared for you.”

  Simon acknowledged Edmond with a nod then stepped into his suite. He was shocked at the changes. The main area had been painted to match that of his old room and many of the furnishings had been brought over. There was no evidence of the previous duke, except for the painting hanging over the marble mantle. It belonged there as it had been the ducal tradition to have the previous duke’s portrait, draped with black ribbons, in that spot. Later, once the period of mourning ended, it would join the others in the family gallery. As he continued to study the items in the room, he noticed one very important piece of furniture was missing. First though, he needed to set the ground rules with his valet.

  “Edmond, as you’re aware, I’ve spent the past several years in the Guards and have had to take care of myself. Harold, my valet, was along to take care of my uniforms, but that was the extent of his duties. However, as cravats aren’t normally part of the uniform, I will need help in tying them. Also, later, I would like my old writing desk brought in and set under the window.” He pointed to the very spot. It overlooked the gardens and would give him hours of pleasure while he sat and gazed upon the beds.

  “I understand and will only do what you require or ask. As you can see, I’ve laid out proper attire, but is there some you choose not to wear at this time?”

  “While I get several days’ of grime and whiskers off me, inquire if the duchess is available for an audience. Then I’ll decide what to wear.”

  “Your Grace, if I’m not mistaken, she’s resting in her parlor and will be for another hour or so,” Edmond answered.

  With that news, Simon knew he’d have a chance to look over the piles of letters, mostly expressing the sender’s condolences, but some, he suspected, would involve estate business, which must have collected on his desk. He felt for that duty there wasn’t any need to be dressed in a jacket and trousers. With a smile, he turned to the bed then back to his valet.

  “If that’s the case lay out a pair of buckskin riding britches, boots, along with a white shirt. Put everything else away. No wait, leave them out as I’ll attempt to get into them for dinner. I’ll also want a simple bandanna. That’s all.”

  “Very good. While you bathe I’ll take care of laying them out.”

  With a nod, Simon marched over to his private room where he stripped out of his muddy clothes and boots. As he tossed them into the corner, he wondered if they were worth cleaning. Of course, they would be good enough for working in the fields alongside the farmers. That is, if his mother’s companion didn’t take them for the tenants.

  Thirty minutes later, bathed and with three days’ growth of beard scraped off, Simon returned to the main room and was glad to see his precious desk, from his youth, in the room. He then turned to the bed where the clothing he’d ordered were laid out. After climbing into them, he grabbed the silver-handled comb and carefully worked it through his hair, making the rat’s nest presentable.

  Satisfied with his appearance, not that it mattered as for now he wouldn’t be meeting with his mother for a while, he took a final look at himself in the mirror and grinned.

  “I’ll be in my office. When the duchess wakes let me know.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Simon left the room, taking the grand stairs to the main floor. He stopped and looked around, glad to be home. Eventually, he’d need to make some changes to the décor, but for now, he wanted to keep everything as he remembered when his father was alive.

  At the door to his office, he inhaled deeply then slowly let it out. He swung the door wide and stood at the threshold, remembering the last time he’d been here. It was on the day he bid his parents farewell before going to the continent to fight against Napoleon Bonaparte. From what he could recall nothing had changed over the years he’d been gone.

  The faint hint of lemon from the waxed wood hung gently in the air, and bright light filtered in through the open windows. The heavy oak and maple desk in the middle of the room sat as a symbol of strength—a position of power.

  The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were filled with a variety of books—some he’d read, while many he hadn’t. The drawers behind the desk held the accounting ledgers from the different estates now under his protection. Pigeon holes were storage for rolled maps of the different lands. He’d need to review each one carefully, understanding the responsibility of his new position.

  Simon strolled to the windows which looked out onto the courtyard. Not seeing carts or carriages coming down the drive, he turned and marched over to the desk. There he peered down at the layers of letters scattered across the top. He suddenly lost some of the pride of being in charge.

  Taking a seat, he grabbed for the letter opener, and began the mundane task with a resigned sigh. The first was addressed to his mother, which made sense considering no one knew he’d arrived. She’d always taken an interest in the operations of the different estates, so seeing that she’d taken an active role wasn’t a surprise.

  As Simon read the letter involving the grist mill and the miller’s agreement on increasing the flour yield and quality, he felt his lips curl into a smile. Simon realized his father must have been deliberating the possibility of rerouting a stream to turn a second set of grind stone.

  Wondering upon the plans, Simon pushed back from the desk, and stepped over to the pigeon holes. His time to review the maps had come sooner than he’d anticipated. He withdrew the map of the estate and spread it on the polished mahogany table. He could remember seeing his dad standing here, looking over maps, and Simon became filled with nostalgia. He pushed aside the thought and focused on the business at hand. With close examination, he searched the paper and found where they were planning the expansion. From what he could tell, the idea was a brilliant one.

  He rolled the map, but left it on the table for examination later.

  Back at his desk, he took a piece of foolscap from the desk drawer and touched the tip of a quill pen. Finding it satisfactory, he wrote to James, the miller, that he’d be out in the next day or so to discuss the ease of making the change.

  He took the next letter which was from the manager of his estate in Cornwall. It was in regards to smugglers hiding their goods in caves on ducal land. For Simon that was an easy one to solve. He wrote telling the administrator that as long as no English were hurt then let it continue and chase the authorities away. Simon knew running forbidden goods had been a long standing tradition in the region, and several times he, in his youth, had accompanied the smugglers. He along with others benefited—Belgium lace for the ladies, and French brandy for the men.

  Hearing the sound of hooves and wagon wheels from the courtyard, Simon stood and went to the window. Since he hadn’t been notified by Edmond that his mother was awake, and no one knew he’d arrived, this made him curious as to who could be visiting. While staying partially hidden by a heavy, dark-brown curtain, he peered down onto the scene below. The mysterious young lady with the big, blue eyes from earlier, without a bonnet much less a groom, drove the dogcart toward the stables.

  This was simply ludicrous! If she was going to visit the tenants, a groom must accompany her. Not only was propriety important, but her safety was at stake. That wouldn’t be up for debate or she’d be gone in the morning, he quickly decided.

  Once she was out of sight, he returned to the desk. He continued to review over the remaining letters, but only comprehended a part of what he read. His mind seemed to stray to the w
oman who had him perplexed.

  Rereading the letter, he found it was from his Northumberland manager concerning the need for a new roof on the gazebo as a storm had damaged the current one. About to respond, the sound of delicate footsteps approaching the office distracted him. He wondered who it could be as the person approaching was coming from the main stairs, forbidden to be used by staff. Could it be the young lady?

  When the sound stopped, he waited, realizing he was holding his breath. He expected to hear a soft knock, but instead the door came open and struck the wall. Her expression was a mixture between anger and confusion, and he sat there watching.

  “I don’t know who you are. This is the private office of The Duke of Kettering. I order you to leave at once or I will be required to call for footmen to forcibly remove you.” The woman stood in the doorway, her eyes dazzling, her cheeks crimson in rage, and a stern tilt to her chin.

  He bit back a smile. Did she think with her short stature that she would be taken seriously? Simon tightened his grip on the edge of the desk until his knuckles ached. He started to open his mouth to explain, and chastise her for interrupting him with her silliness until, she stepped over to the saber on the wall and drew the sword from its scabbard.

  If this woman was his mother’s companion there was no question in his mind, she was insane.

  He bolted out of the chair so fast it knocked against the wall. Simon rushed to the woman, stopping a few feet from her, a safe distance from the saber. She held the deadly sharp blade in her hand, pointed directly at his chest.

  “I don’t believe a cavalry saber is the proper accessory for a young lady. Why don’t you relinquish it before one of us gets seriously injured?” He smiled, belying the tension in his gut.

  “Not until you’re in a cell in the basement, awaiting whatever punishment His Grace deems suitable,” she snapped back, not even a sliver of fear in her eye or voice.

  Simon appreciated the fact this young lady wasn’t a weak flower, but a strong tree. Unwilling to bend in a storm.