The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Shirley Schneckloth
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781477807538
ISBN-10: 1477807535
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013933898
To Mrs. V and the current group: Evelyn, Jenny, Kathy, and Rachel
To my mother and her gardening magic.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FOREWORD
In April 1815, the massive eruption of Mount Tambora on the island of Sumbawa, Indonesia, was the fifth volcano within four years that ejected immense amounts of volcanic dust into the upper atmosphere. These eruptions created an enormous sun filter, darkening the skies and decreasing the global temperature. Agricultural crops failed and livestock died in much of the Northern Hemisphere, resulting in the worst famine of the nineteenth century.
This story takes place in 1816, which is known as “the year without a summer.”
CHAPTER ONE
June 1816—Worth House, London
“I beg your pardon. Did I hear you correctly, Frederick?”
Edward, Duke of Faraday, returned his inked quill to its stand lest it slip from his fingertips onto his document. Edward hardly regarded himself elderly at two and forty and never would have considered his hearing poor, but in this moment, he hoped perhaps it was. If he had just heard correctly, he might be felled by a gentle passing breeze right there in his very library.
Frederick, Earl of Brent, the heir and only son of His Grace, struck an attitude, displaying his profile before the hearth. It must have been for the benefit of his parent that he repeated, “I said, sir, that I thought it time to consider marriage.”
“Yours?” the Duke finally replied. “You are not yet twenty.” Not many gentlemen of his age contemplated matrimony.
“At nineteen you were duke and wed to my mother,” Frederick was quick to point out.
“Coming into the title earlier than anyone expected necessitated that I marry. Meeting your mother was a fortuitous happenstance.” Edward recalled it was the happiest time of his life with the exception of the births of his children.
“In any case…” Frederick remained composed and, it appeared, quite unmoved. “I remain determined.”
“What happened to the carefree, fun-loving Freddie?” How could his son make a change of this magnitude in so little time?
“He’s still about, I imagine.” A smile spread over Frederick’s lips. “It’s just that I realize I have duties and responsibilities. I cannot forever be a fun-loving buck. Mind, I don’t wish to rush my fences.”
Edward well knew the vices into which some young men fell. Gaming, wine, and ladies all played a part in an adolescent male’s life. It was a decision a son needed to make on how to navigate the temptations, not for a father to dictate.
If this news of Frederick’s willingness to wade into matrimonial waters were true, Edward could not have been happier. It meant his son had settled down and matured. Yet he would not be so easily convinced merely by his son’s pronouncement.
Only last year his youngest daughter, Muriel, had come to Town for the Season, and although she did make a match, marriage had not been her primary reason, he later learned. Edward had known Frederick to be a close conspirator of Muriel’s in their youth, yet she had kept even him in the dark about meeting her Latin tutor in secret. His elder daughter, Augusta, who was the first to marry and now lived in Suffolk, had not been far removed in character. Then there was their middle sister, Charlotte. Come to think of it, his angelic Charlotte, also married and residing in Cornwall, was the only offspring who did not possess a deceptive bone in her body.
How had Edward managed to raise such unusually…clever children?
“I cannot disagree with your choice of direction. I had always believed it would be best you take the matrimonial step by your choice rather than through external demands. You haven’t a mother to please, but you do have two very interested aunts who’ll take notice if you pass your thirtieth year and don’t do the pretty.” The sisters of the late duchess, especially Mrs. Penelope Parker, took it upon themselves to remain involved with the Duke’s children in the absence of their mother. “What of your plans for the Grand Tour?”
“Alas, Muriel has gone to the Continent, and I believe she has decided to remain for an extended period in Italy—it’s her interest in Roman everything, you know.” Frederick glanced away and commented, “I doubt the country is vast enough for us both. I’d bump into her while in Florence or Venice all the while thinking she was touring the Seven Hills.”
“On a day trip, I expect, following the footsteps of Augustus Caesar’s legions.” The Duke knew well enough of her obsession.
“Don’t you know it!” With the wave of his hand, Frederick pushed the entire notion aside. “My new bride and I may decide to travel the Continent. Perhaps we’ll visit Paris instead of Rome on our wedding trip.”
“And do you have any idea as to the identity of your bride?” Had the lad taken to some lass he’d seen while out and about?
“Not at all.” Frederick’s expression appeared sincere. “I merely wish to begin my search and have no expectations of an outcome for this year. It may take several, for all I know.”
“Is there anything you need of me, or is stating your intentions all you wished?”
The stoic stance Frederick had struck before the hearth was apparently only a facade. He removed his hand from the mantel and his booted foot from the fender, appearing every bit the young man just out of Eton, not at all the next in line for a dukedom. “I thought you might accompany me to a few balls, the opera, or ballet.”
Edward thought his an odd request. Frederick had never expressed interest in attending the opera or ballet. “What about some of your friends? Surely there must be one among them?”
“Tommy Norton and Anthony Shelbridge are more interested in the races and gaming. Then there’s Trevor. Well, he’s not near ready to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap.” Frederick seemed to have given this quite a bit of thought. “None of them would be willing to accompany me on this endeavor, but that’s bound to change one of these days.”
“Just so,” Edward commented, still wondering about his son. Would he really continue to pursue this course?
“You and I should attend the opera tomorrow night and Almack’s the evening after. What do you say, Father?”
“I suppose you want me to accompany you on morning calls and ride through the Park at the fashionable hour to have a look at prospective young ladies and evaluate your rivals?”
“Rivals?” Frederick chuckled. “That’s doing it a bit too brown. Although I do believe riding through Hyde Park is an excellent idea, except I haven’t a horse. Galah
ad remains at Faraday Hall.”
“We could send for him. It would only take a few days at best.” Edward considered for a moment, then changed his mind regarding the horse his son usually rode when at their country house. “On the other hand, you won’t need a hunter in Town. What you need is a saddle horse. Perhaps we should be on the lookout for a pair for a new curricle or phaeton. I don’t see why you shouldn’t have one. Seems appropriate, don’t you think?”
“The idea had not occurred to me, sir. I shall give it further thought, if you please.”
The spark in Frederick’s eyes at the mention of a new vehicle, one of his own, could not have been missed. Had the Duke been mistaken or did his son seem more excited about the prospect of purchasing horseflesh than finding a bride?
“As your father, and your predecessor, it seems that I should support your undertaking to marry. If you decide to set up your household, you will need the necessities: transportation, a house, an income, and the responsibilities befitting your rank.” It still remained to be seen if the Earl of Brent was truly prepared for what lay ahead. “I’ll plan to attend Almack’s with you, and if we have any hopes of riding through Hyde Park this week, we’ll need to visit Tattersall’s today. Let us be off, then! To be honest, I’d agree to almost any day while the arguments for the Corn Laws continue in Parliament.” Edward pushed back from his desk and stood.
“Excellent! I thank you for your cooperation, sir. You have been a most obliging parent.” Frederick smiled and made a shallow, respectful bow from his waist. “I can think of no one better qualified to choose a future duchess than you.”
A dull, gray afternoon greeted Edward and his son at Tattersall’s at the corner of Hyde Park. Any warmth of the afternoon must have owed itself to the accumulation of equines and the gathering of sellers and potential buyers in the confined, semisheltered area.
“Have you any idea of what you might fancy?” Edward strolled under the covered walkway with his son, glancing at the guests examining the horseflesh lining the aisle.
“I haven’t given it any thought.” Frederick reseated his hat upon his head. “I am of a mind to have an easygoing steed. Won’t do to fight my horse when I wish to keep focus on the ladies passing by.”
“There’s a nice-looking gray over there.” The Duke pointed off to their left.
Frederick grunted in acknowledgment and without much interest. “An ordinary brown would do me as well. Don’t need anything flashy, just a smooth goer—I wouldn’t fancy having my teeth rattled out of my head.”
Edward could scarcely believe his ears. His son wasn’t interested in an exceptional-looking horse.
“Some height would do me, don’t care to have my heels dragging in their dirt as I ride, you know.” Frederick paused to look across the courtyard toward the auction area.
“That’s completely understandable.” Edward noted his son would need a horse that stood well over sixteen hands.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Your Grace.” An immaculately dressed gentleman, from his splendidly tied cravat to the quickly disappearing shine on his top boots from tramping through the marketplace, inclined his head in greeting. His black hair set off his piercing blue eyes to perfection.
“Ah, Viscount Fieldstone,” the Duke returned, glancing to his son, imparting an informal introduction. “May I introduce my son, the Earl of Brent.”
“How do you do, Lord Brent?” A firm nod accompanied his greeting.
“Lord Fieldstone came to Faraday Hall some years ago when Augusta entertained some suitors after the Season’s end. He was a most agreeable guest and…left early. I believe our party suffered from his absence.” The Duke’s jest did not appear to amuse Fieldstone in the least, for not even a polite smile graced his lips.
“You and my sister did not rub along well, I take it?” Frederick spoke to the Viscount but it was clear something off to his left had drawn his attention.
“Let us say our parting was amicable.” With a nod of his head, Lord Fieldstone indicated the horse to his right. “I see Mr. Curry’s bay has caught your attention, my lord.”
“He seems a steady enough fellow.” Frederick pivoted to admire the horse. “He stands calmly while being inspected by complete strangers.”
“Ah, but looks can be deceiving. I have it on good authority that he is not stalwart or serene as he appears but shies at the merest turn of a leaf on a tree.”
“Oh, do be serious, my lord.” Frederick chuckled at the absurdity.
“Once he is in motion, there is no calming him until he has well exhausted himself. Do not mistake his temporary docility for sound temperament. That gelding is not for an inattentive rider.”
“You don’t say?” Frederick’s opinion remained unchanged, by the sound of his reply.
“If you will permit me to illustrate.” Lord Fieldstone brought his gloved fist to his lips and cleared his throat as if readying himself to perform a magic illusion before them. He slipped his right hand into his jacket and drew out a neatly folded white handkerchief.
Not certain whether his attention should remain focused on Viscount Fieldstone’s performance or elsewhere, Edward exchanged glances with Frederick, who appeared to be wondering the exact same.
Lord Fieldstone took one corner of the handkerchief and in a quick motion waved it upward. A soundless display of bright white quickly rose into the air. Across from them, the groom handling Mr. Curry’s bay cried out, “Easy there. Take it easy!” when the horse sidestepped and reared, tossing his head in alarm at Fieldstone’s disturbance.
The bay soon backed from his groom, white-eyed, snorting, and pulled free from his handler. He had, by the third stride of his gallop, passed the Duke’s small group to the open courtyard. The groom, several stable hands, and Mr. Curry followed in the horse’s wake.
“Goodness!” Frederick remarked, turning to watch the outcome of the stampede. “I must admit I am indebted to you. I could have been the sad owner of a horse who had ceremoniously unseated his rider before a vast audience during the high hour in Hyde Park.”
“Is that what you’re in search of? A hack to ride in the Park?” Fieldstone glanced from Frederick to the Duke.
“That was our intent.” Edward wondered where the Viscount’s questions were leading. “Do you have a suggestion? Know of a horse that might be of interest to the Earl?”
“I’ve just purchased a new saddle horse myself. Champion is getting on in years and very…comfortable, almost predictable.”
“Do you mean your chestnut?” Edward recalled seeing the tall, well-built gelding the previous Season.
“That’s the one. He’s quite sound, I merely crave the energy of a new challenge.” A pensive silence came over Fieldstone, allowing the clamor in the courtyard to remind them of the ongoing pursuit of Curry’s bay. “I had not thought of parting with him.”
“A reliable horse is exactly what I’m looking for,” Frederick admitted.
“He’s stabled at my townhouse if you care to have a look. Perhaps you’d like to ride him? I’ll gladly put him at your disposal.” Lord Fieldstone’s offer sounded generous, if not most opportune.
“That sounds splendid! How can I refuse?” Frederick turned to Edward. “What do you think, Your Grace?”
“You are free to do as you see fit.” Edward preferred his son make his own decision.
“Shall we leave right away?” Excited at this new prospect, Frederick seemed more than anxious to quit Tattersall’s, even after Mr. Curry’s bay had been cornered, captured, and the decorum of the marketplace restored.
“If that suits you. And we’ll stop at White’s for supper, if you’d like,” said Fieldstone.
“A meal at the club sounds splendid, Fieldstone.” Frederick truly seemed delighted with this outcome.
“I fear I must leave you two to fend for yourselves.” Edward thought that allowing the gentlemen to work out the arrangements between them might prove best. “I dine with the Rutherfords tonight.”
“I shall.” Edward still had a difficult time accepting the change in his son. First his decision to take a wife, then a purchase of a sensible saddle horse, and now respectful salutations to the Duke’s friends. What would come next?
“Let’s be off, shall we, Lord Brent?” Fieldstone motioned for them to depart. After their farewells, they crossed the courtyard to leave.
“Hold up for a moment, Fieldstone.” Frederick held up his hand, halting them before going completely out of sight. “What do you think of that smart-looking phaeton over there?”
Edward glanced at the faded yellow vehicle and did not think much of it.
“Does your son fancy my rig, Your Grace?” Sir Nicholas Petersham appeared before him, catching Edward unaware.
Gracious! Sir Nicholas’s ongoing unsavory behavior had always given the Duke a distinct dislike for the man. It was unfortunate they had neighboring country estates in Essex. He had never met anyone who had more love of sport, wagering, and gambling. When the man had made a nuisance of himself, Edward had the Baronet escorted off his estate and barred from joining in the current festivities.
“Would that not be de-lightful if Lord Brent wished to purchase my gaming phaeton?” The Baronet seemed to come alive at his own words.
Edward watched his son and Lord Fieldstone disappear from Tattersall’s. Frederick might do as he wished regarding Champion, but by no means would the Duke ever condone the purchase of the Baronet’s curricle.
Nowadays Edward rather cherished the quiet and solitude during his evenings, but the pleasant sound of female chatter at the Rutherford dining room table was a reminder of what his life had been only five or so years before. His eldest and youngest daughters, Augusta and Muriel, were at constant odds with each other. Their aunt Penny played mediator, and his good-natured middle daughter, Charlotte, could not side with either sister lest she offend the other. To his ears the quartet’s melodious disagreements were an expression of the domestic harmony that provided the musical accompaniment in the background of life at Faraday Hall.
The Duke Dilemma Page 1