by Lynda Hurst
The Lady and Her Treasured Duke
The Revelstoke Legacy
By Lynda Hurst
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Copyright © 2018 by Lynda Hurst & Bon Ton Books
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
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1
1 Year Ago
Standing impatiently in a circle with others like him in the semi-darkness, he was growing more bored by the second. A few lanterns illumined the crowded space, casting eerie shadows that flickered strangely against the cavern walls.
The mask that they were all required to wear was hot, and it itched terribly. As much as he wanted to take it off, it would only ruin the shoddy guise of anonymity they had all agreed to. For as long as they had been actively participating in this group’s activities, it was inevitable that they would soon discover each other’s identities even with the masks. He was under no disillusionment that some of society’s well-known figures were present tonight.
They were told to meet here in their usual place under the cover of darkness, where they now awaited for their leader to arrive, who should have been here a half hour past. With his arrival, they expected one of their number to arrive with the evening’s prize, another condition for them to partake in this macabre game they played.
No one knew the identity of their leader; only that he had contacted them singly, alluring to their baser instincts with the outrageous proposal he had given them all. He was always under a much heavier mask that covered any remarkable features and was always clothed in black evening clothes and a black, heavy greatcoat.
The leader’s identity was of no import to him; like the others, he was here to indulge in a sport that momentarily staved off the boredom. A sport that allowed each man present to shuck off the moral grooming their society had forced upon those of their station. Under such stifling conditions, it was no wonder their group was the size that they were.
The attraction this gathering held for those here rested solely on one thing: the need to give in to man’s baser instincts as a hunter. For a bored nobleman with no other worthy entertainments, this group provided a singularly diverting pastime that only made them thirst and hunger for more.
Since the formation of their group, their meetings had increased in frequency. Some meetings were unsuccessful in gaining a proper prize for their game; others proved fruitful.
Judging by a chorus of shouts that sounded at the other end of the circle, it appeared that tonight’s meeting would go on as usual.
One of their masked companions was successful in his procurement of tonight’s prize, as he led her, blindfolded and barefoot into their midst. Another shout rose up to accompany the entry of their leader.
On ceremony, their leader began the evening with some nonsensical speech, detailing the purpose of tonight’s activities. As he half-heartedly listened to some drivel about the True Hunter and his revenge against some goddess he could care less about, he could feel the thrill of the hunt singing in his veins.
Soon, the poor girl would be asked The Question, and, if their companion had chosen her carefully, she would pick the right answer. The choice would then be presented to her, and the game would start.
Little did she know, that not once had one of their own ever lost a game.
2
The Present - Donnesbury, England
Lady Margaret de Chamblay could never be accused of being a weak, society miss by the speedy pace she was currently maintaining. Neither her poor maid, who was clearly in need of at least a short breather, or the Prestonridge footman who was fit and hale, were able to keep up. Her long legs made short work of the well-worn path that connected both Prestonridge and Revelstoke lands, and she was eager to reach Revelstoke Place and make it back home before dark. The country air in the afternoon was the perfect temperature for a brisk walk, and Margaret wasn’t one to waste a perfectly good day to just stay indoors.
At her brother’s insistence, she promised to get there and back with an escort, as a cautionary measure in light of recent events. Donnesbury residents were urged to keep their daughters of marriageable age close after dark, lest they too become the latest victim in a string of sequential murders. For the past two years, there have been at least five local girls from varying backgrounds, whose families at first assumed they turned runaways, only to have their bodies discovered days later, with a lone arrow piercing their hearts. Margaret knew of each girl, having grown up knowing everyone in the area, and learning what little details surrounded their tragic deaths made her blood run cold. It didn’t hurt to be cautious, but Margaret had always thought that the general public would be served much better if their own government, and not just their local sheriff or magistrate, were to do something about it.
Thinking back on the past two years since Devlin and Faith had solved the last clue involving the Revelstoke legacy, Margaret marveled at the latest clue that had yet to be properly studied and solved. Now at the age of twenty-five, Margaret had all the time in the world to dedicate herself to this delicious mystery of Faith’s family legacy. Who would have thought a duke’s daughter, such as herself, would relish the thrill of a treasure hunt so zealously? So much so, in fact, that her past twenty-three-year-old self would not recognize her as she was now.
There was a time when she had devoted most of her thoughts to nothing more substantial than the next dinner party or the latest style in gowns. Now, she had become something closer to a crusader of sorts, seeking out and grasping onto any bits of information regarding the latest Revelstoke clue she could find. Devlin had teased her about her “scholarly pursuits” one day when he had spied her poring over numerous tomes in the Prestonridge library, to which she had regally stuck her nose in the air and replied, “You can’t complain that I’m wasting my time, or your money for that matter, on bits of nonsense. We already know the treasure is real, and I aim to be the one to find the next piece.” Devlin had only shrugged and let his studious sister continue, happy that she had found an interest in something other than the grieving she had done shortly after learning of their father’s demise at the hands of their own cousin.
A year-long mourning period for their father and for Faith’s mother had the Prestonridge household locked in a state of grieving that was lifted mercifully in time for the arrival of the newest family member, Devlin and Faith’s baby boy, Grayson. His birth heralded a new beginning for their family, the fruit of a union and reconciliation between the de Chamblays and Revelstokes.
After years of disapproving of Faith for what she thought her family had done to hers, Margaret had quickly discovered that none
of her opinions of Faith held up well once she had gotten the chance to know her. Living in the same household had forced that discovery, and it was quite obvious to Margaret that Grayson’s sweetness had nothing to do with his pompous father, and everything to do with his just-as-sweet mother. While Faith herself was a lovely person, Margaret appreciated that Faith was the only female in her experience who could stand up to her brother’s often-boorish ways, and it was a shame that Margaret hadn’t realized it sooner to use it to her own advantage.
Delighted to be parents and maybe a little overwhelmed by the responsibility, Faith and Devlin had held off any remote possibility of treasure-hunting. They were happy to pass on that particular torch to Margaret. For Margaret, the thrill of the hunt gave her a sense of joy and purpose that she hadn’t possessed before this legacy business had started.
This latest clue was unearthed along with the scarecrow full of jewels, old coins, and gold that Devlin had found underneath the floorboards of the Revelstoke library. Two years had passed, and the scrap of parchment that contained the latest clue still hadn’t been deciphered, but was not forgotten. Margaret could recite the words by heart:
The Fates, both cruel and kind, spun a short thread of life
When the love of the hunt spurred mighty Orion and Divine Huntress to Cretan lands.
Many was the beast that fell beneath both their arrows
As man’s prideful boast sealed his fate.
Between their pierced hearts lay their token of friendship
Torn asunder, yet forever entwined in rivalry and hate.
Since then, Margaret had pored through what texts she could manage to locally find regarding any of the myths pertaining to Artemis and Orion. When she had exhausted that resource, she had written to the Classics department at Cambridge, requesting information about the goddess of the hunt, which soon led to a regular correspondence with one of their top scholars in Greek mythology. Devlin half-jokingly complained his office was now overrun with stacks of notes and various volumes since Margaret’s sudden but not unwelcome studious side had come fully to the fore.
With Faith busy as a mother, who insisted in trying her hand at everything that job entailed, she just had no extra time to dedicate to puzzle-solving the latest clue. Margaret had been given permission from Devlin and Faith to peruse the Revelstoke library for any other information about the legacy itself today, and wasted no time at all to be out the door and on her way to Revelstoke Place.
Almost there, a sharp bend in the road prevented Margaret and her companions from spying the oncoming horse and buggy that came barreling through, and they were just narrowly missed at being trampled underneath the horse’s powerful hooves. The Prestonridge footman, Randall, whose quick thinking and reflexes drove him to action, pulled the fear-frozen women away from the horse’s path. The horse’s driver mightily pulled on the reins of the horse to come to a complete stop, neatly lining up the buggy adjacent to the trio.
“Whoa, Jupiter,” he cried, encouraging his horse to halt upon hearing the sound of his master’s voice.
Margaret’s eyes widened at the sight of the driver for more reasons than she cared to admit. It was only natural that she and her party had been given an awful scare with the sudden appearance of horse, driver, and buggy, but the identity of the driver still had the ability to cause her heart to flutter at the sight of him. Lord Jackson Ellesmere, soon to be Earl of Ellesmere, still melted her core whenever she found herself in his presence.
She had always wondered what it was about him that affected her so, but she found that she couldn’t possibly name just one thing. There were a multitude of things about him that made her fall for him hard since she was young. To say it was his masculine beauty, being the male counterpart to his twin sister, Mary, would only make her sound superficial and shallow. Neither was it just his good-natured way of dealing with those around him, making it easy to be in his vicinity. She had taken note of the easy way he was around men, women, and children alike, and found that it was him as a whole, the sum of his parts that drew her to him like a moth to a flame.
But having years of him ignoring her had taken its toll on her heart. It was only two years ago that she had decided to stop this silly pursuit of him that had taken her nowhere with him. Once she had made the conscious decision to stop seeing Jackson as a love interest, she had been surprised to discover that she had overlooked the men who were genuinely interested in her, one of which became an earnest suitor.
Lord Jeffrey Collingwood, son of the Duke of Collingwood, had been her constant escort to all London events for the past two seasons. Good-natured and kind, he was everything she should want in a future husband, yet she didn’t love him, and she doubted that he truly loved her. Margaret had steeled herself to view their match as advantageous for both of them just as their society’s strictures would tell them so. Love matches were not uncommon amongst the ton, but the majority of marriages among London’s elite set were made for financial gain or for a higher rung on the social ladder. Despite her head’s agreement that theirs would be a good match, her heart was still wavering, and thus, she staid Jeffrey’s hand in talking with her brother about their future together.
Bringing her mind back to the present, Margaret called out in a scolding tone, “Jackson, you might have given us some warning you’d be around the bend. A shout would have sufficed.” Seeing as how they were almost family by association through Faith, their level of comfort with each other had extended to the allowance of using their given names.
“Ah, my apologies, Margaret. I was in such a rush to see Devlin, I hadn’t thought anyone would be roaming about at this hour. Shouldn’t you be home? Twilight is almost upon us.”
“I’m not without an escort as you can see,” Margaret indicated with a sweep of her arm towards her companions. Randall and poor Janet were still trying to catch their breath from the harrowing fright of earlier. “I am only venturing as far as Revelstoke Place, and I will most likely stay there if my research takes me longer than it would to get home before dark.”
“The Artemis clue?” Jackson inquired. At her enthusiastic nod, he replied, “As much as I admire determination and tenacity, both of which you abound in spades, I’m not sure how this venture can be beneficial to you. After all, you’re a wealthy heiress in your own right.”
Her look of earnest exasperation was quite the most adorable look he had ever seen on her. “I know the state of my finances, thank you very much,” she retorted. “I’m not looking to amass more wealth. It’s only that this latest clue has had all of us stymied for the past two years and I’m determined to locate the next piece of Faith’s family legacy.” The old, smitten-with-Jackson version of Margaret would not have replied in such a manner to him, but this new Margaret was firm in her resolve to treat him as she would her brother.
“It’s probably just as well,” Jackson said, wryly. “My godson appears to be running both of his parents ragged with his antics if the dark circles under their eyes are any indication.”
“He’s my godson, too, and you’re being rather indelicate by mentioning their less-than-comely looks as of late.”
“And you, my dear, look fresh as a daisy in comparison. On that note, I will take my leave. Devlin was expecting me an hour ago, but old Jupiter here had lost a shoe and needed a new one before I could set out. Not that that excuses my almost running you over, but I really must be going. Let me know if you discover any new developments with the old girl, will you?”
“Of course,” Margaret said. She knew he was referring to Artemis and the goddess’ connection to the Revelstoke treasure. The de Chamblays and Ellesmeres worked better together as a team, using their collective brains to hunt down the treasure. Once their ‘Good days’ were traded between them, Jackson ambled past the trio, urging the horse onward toward Prestonridge Manor.
Smiling to himself at their little exchange, Jackson wondered when it was that Margaret had changed from the slightly annoying hanger-on she h
ad been as a child, and transformed into this likable and more interesting version of herself. Growing up alongside Faith and his sister Mary, he was accustomed to their guileless pranks and, later in their adulthood, their forthright dispositions that were devoid of the calculated cunning prevalent in their female peers. He once viewed Margaret in the latter category based on her former attitude toward his sister-by-choice in Faith.
Now, he couldn’t deny that Margaret had changed from a catty, empty-headed miss to a person he actually admired and respected. The day he watched her stand toe-to-toe with her cousin, her father’s killer, he could dredge up nothing less than utmost respect for her bravely facing an armed man in an effort to keep Devlin and Faith out of the line of fire. It was a foolhardy gesture that could have potentially gone down a different route with an unhappier ending, but he wasn’t one to dwell on the what-ifs in life.
And of course, he couldn’t help but notice that she had also stopped her active pursuit of him. Unaware at first of her change in attitude towards him, he had braced himself for her unwanted presence everywhere he went: while on an errand to the bookshop, the posting office, the confectionary, or the mercantile. After a week, he had realized she was never going to materialize, and he had openly welcomed the change in routine. While in the city for the past two seasons, he had glimpsed her across ballrooms only a handful of times, while she was always on the arm of Lord Collingwood, known by all to be heir to a prosperous duchy. He could not fault her in choosing the man, but he could not help but feel a little bereft at the swift replacement in her affection. He reminded himself that the feeling must just be anticipation that she would soon be a thorn in someone else’s side.