“Relax,” I said, trying to soothe the girl. “I will go to him at once. That will be all, Charlotte.”
Charlotte left, and I made my way through the Castle to the dining room. The chandelier glittered with the light of the torches that burned in sconces along the walls. The curtains were drawn, and the Duke sat at the end of the long dining table. He stood upon my entrance, and I walked over to his end of the table. He pulled a seat out for me, and together we sat.
We said nothing to each other until the servants had brought our food, which they did soon after I sat down. When the food and the drink was brought, the Duke dismissed the servants so that we could be alone. The wine was a magnificent red; I felt as though Spain was on my tongue. The Duke held up his glass, and we clinked them.
“Do you like it?” he said.
“I do,” I replied. “It is beautiful to behold.”
“You are beautiful to behold,” he said impulsively.
I thought about chastising him for his hasty speech, but we had long since passed the point of proper etiquette, and so I took the compliment striding. The Duke was wearing his most elegant and becoming finery, which accentuated his handsomeness. The Duke stared down at his hands for a moment, and then looked swiftly into my eyes.
“Do you believe in attachment, Sarah?”
“How do you mean?” I said.
“Do you believe that it is possible to form strong attachments – the kind of attachment that exists between man and wife, say – without actually having gone through the traditional routes? What I am saying is, do you think it is possible for a man to love a woman without having properly and openly courted her? Many men and not a few women would have us think that it is impossible, that it cannot be done. And yet I sit here and look at you, and I know that I love you. If the word ‘love’ means anything, then it must apply to how I feel about you. I am struck with anxiety oftentimes. My heart beats frantically, and a cold sweat comes upon me, and I never know why. Most times there is nothing to be overly anxious about. But with you I do not feel that way. With you I feel as though a vital part of myself has been restored. I am like an amputee who has had his arm restored after a long absence; or a blind man who has regained the ability to see. Ah!” He slapped his hand down on the table. “If only I could make you feel what I feel, Sarah, so you could know!”
Seeing that dear Francis was in quite a state, I laid my hand upon his arm. He clasped his hand over mine and looked at me gratefully. “Don’t you see, Francis?” I said. “You do not need to make me feel anything; I already feel as you do. I care not that we do not do things the proper way. I have lost all meaning of what ‘proper’ means, anymore. All I know is that when you took me into the library, into the gardens, into the woods, when we were together in my bedroom I was happier and more content than I have been in all my days.” I stopped, breathless. My words were far too forward to be ladylike. Any man would shun me after such openness.
But not Francis.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a glistening ring. It winked at me in the torchlight. “I had to estimate your measurements,” he said. “I hope it fits.” He took my hand and slid the ring onto the third finger of my left hand. “There we go,” he beamed happily. “I knew it would fit!”
I stared down at the ring, bemused. “Look how the light catches it,” I muttered. “But Francis, what ever is it for? You do not need to buy me gifts.”
“It is no simply a gift, my love,” the Duke said, his hand upon my shoulder. “It is a symbol. A symbol of my love for you. A symbol of my commitment to you. We are to be married, if you will have me. My family will hate it, but to hell with them! I love you more than I have ever loved a single thing on this earth, and if the sky were to fall now I would have you, and no other, in my arms. Marry me, Sarah.”
Perhaps a nobler woman would have contemplated the position he was putting himself in. Perhaps a nobler woman would have sincerely thought about declining his proposal, to save the regard others had for him. But I was, and I am, a love-driven woman.
I said yes, and he jumped across the table and brought me into his arms, cradling me like a child.
Postscript
It is the night before we tell our families and friends and associates as I write this: tell them of mine and the Duke’s love. I have written this account so those who find it – whoever they turn out to be – will know the story of the unusual courtship of Sarah Archer and Francis Seymour, the Duke of Somerset. Undoubtedly there are those among you who would have him discredited. All I can say to that is, why? Why discredit a man who married a woman he loves? Far more deserving of discredit are the men who marry women they despise, and spend the rest of their lives making her miserable.
Only the Duke and I know of our marriage; tomorrow that shall all change. He has arranged a meeting. Father is to be there. I wish I could say the meeting gladdens me, but in truth the only gladness I feel is at the thought of Francis visiting me in my rooms tonight. I have worn this quill out completely and I do not think I can write anymore. When I began the sun was rising; now it is deep in the night.
I would write more, but there is a knocking at my door.
He whispers my name. It is Francis.
I must go.
I must be with my love.
The Duke of Ice
Elizabeth Hawk had heard all the rumors about the Duke of Summersat, Harold Stonewall. She had heard that he aided the King in a decisive battle against the French. Some say he aided. Others say he smashed the French with a force of one-hundred men, and then allowed the King to take most of the credit. She’d heard about his two years in France, hiding in barns and on farms to avoid being spotted. She’d heard about his reputed coldness, and his inability to show emotion of any kind. She’d heard that he was twenty seven and had yet to take a wife.
But Elizabeth knew other things, too, things about her own family. They were on the wrong side of a monstrous debt. They had been whittled down by war to one son and one daughter, and their extended family was non-existence, and their friends had become ghosts. Elizabeth knew that her family was on the verge of total collapse. Soon they would be nothing but a footnote in England’s history, something to be passed over with bored eyes.
When she heard that the Duke of Summersat was holding a party, and that she had been invited, she didn’t know how to feel. She spent her days sewing and repairing gowns, helping to tend the chickens and pigs, and generally acting as unladylike as a supposed lady could. The Hawk family had let all their servants go. Father’s gambling debts had robbed them of most of their valuables. They were almost utterly ruined.
But a party at Summersat Castle! As soon as Elizabeth heard about it, she was excited. She had not been to a party for two years. Her friends had abandoned her since Father had insulted all of their fathers. She had lived alone, Mother rarely talking, Father too busy with drinking and lamenting his past to engage in conversation. She spent her time when she wasn’t tending the livestock in books. Father had not sold their books, which was a small miracle in itself. She read as much as she could, if only to forget what was happening in the real world.
When the missive came, Father peered at it through a haze of pipe-smoke and scrunched up his face. “What’s this, then?” he said. “The Duke of Summersat wants you, Elizabeth, to attend a party at his Castle? Well, I wonder what tricks he’s playing! I’ve heard lots about him, I have! Lots! I’ve heard that he drinks human blood. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s true! He’s a beast on the battlefield, and he drinks human blood! When he returned from France, the first thing he did was order a chalice of blood!”
“Father…”
“No!” He lurched when he shouted, spilling wine down his shirt, which was already sodden with sweat. “You cannot go!”
“Dear, she can hardly refuse,” Mother murmured over her knitting. “Think how it would look. A Duke invites you to a party, you do not refuse. You accept, despite your misgivings.”
>
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile, but quickly hid it with her hand. She made her face impassive again and then looked to Father, waiting for him to speak. She knew there was no use in pushing the matter. She simply had to wait. After a few minutes Father let the letter drop to the floor and sucked on his pipe. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You can go.”
Elizabeth did not show her joy. Inside she was jumping and cheering and screaming in excitement, but outside she was impassive and still as stone. Living around Father, one learnt to hide one’s emotions. Father was not overly fond of displays of inner feelings, and Elizabeth had learnt to make herself calm in almost every circumstances, even if she was only calm on the outside. Plus, the turmoil of the past years had dulled her emotions until it was difficult to feel anything not tinged with depression.
But a party, a real party… that was something to look forward to.
“Thank you, Father,” she said quietly.
“You will need a dress,” Mother muttered.
“Yes, Mother.”
“You can have my good gown, the one I have saved.”
Elizabeth knew all about this gown. It was beautiful and elegant, with gold trimming and forest-green silk. Father had sold all of their gowns, but Mother had not allowed him to sell this one. He had fought her, but she had persevered and managed to succeed in saving it.
“Thank you, Mother,” Elizabeth said.
*****
The chandelier caught the summer light as it beamed through the high-set windows of Summerset Castle’s ball room. Elizabeth accepted a glass of wine from a server and walked to the edge of the room, where she could sit quietly and privately. The room was packed full of beautiful and noble people all laughing and joking with each other. There were only a few people not attached to a group. Elizabeth knew she had to wait to be approached by somebody, that it would be presumptuous and rude to merely attach herself to a group, but she was beginning to feel like a woman on an island sitting on this chair.
Across the ballroom was Charlotte Festrew, a girl who had once been a friend of Elizabeth’s. Father had lost money to her father and had refused to pay until violence was threatened. Afterwards, Charlotte had sent Elizabeth a short note severing all ties between them. Elizabeth knew it was foolish to hope that Charlotte had miraculously changed her mind, but she decided to try and approach her anyway.
Elizabeth’s legs were shaky and her heart was like a war-drum, pounding, pounding. Charlotte was talking to a tall man with an elaborate beard, the mustache flicking upwards. She laughed at something he said and then turned to Elizabeth, the smile on her lips right up until the moment they met eyes. “You,” she said, her mouth hanging open for a moment.
“Who is your friend?” the man said.
“Elizabeth Hawk,” Charlotte said, with a worried look.
“Hawk? Daughter of Francis Hawk? The philanderer!”
“I do not believe he is a philanderer, sir, just a gambler.”
“Ha! This birdy has a sharp beak indeed!”
“Her family is in complete ruin,” Charlotte said, as though Elizabeth were not standing there. “Her father has completely trampled their finances. I’ve even heard rumors that her mother has taken to a situation in an estate, cleaning and helping with the children.”
“That is not true,” Elizabeth said, aghast.
Charlotte went on, oblivious of Elizabeth. “I’ve even heard whispers that the Father has taken to roaming the highways, pistol in hand, in the hopes of robbing some poor lord or lady.”
“Liar!” Elizabeth whispered fiercely, not wishing to disturb the party.
Charlotte turned to Elizabeth with a sad smile. “How are you even here, Elizabeth? Did you sneak in?”
Elizabeth was appalled. What had she done to provoke such slander? She had never been anything but kind to Charlotte. Only two years ago they had walked together in her family’s woods, laughing and joking all the way, telling each other what great friends they were. And now here she was, being viciously abused. She didn’t know what to say. No words would form. She only stood there, mouth hanging open, tears stinging her eyes. No, she told herself. No, no, no. She made herself cold, and forced the tears away.
She is playing a dangerous game, the cold part of Elizabeth thought. Does she not recall what she told me, when we walked through the woods, about a certain night in the stables with the gardener?
Charlotte and the man were laughing. Elizabeth forced herself to smile and then said, as pleasantly as she could: “Charlotte, you must tell me who does your gardens. If I recall correctly, they are absolutely beautiful.”
Charlotte’s face dropped. She choked back a laugh. “I—I’m sure I don’t—know what you—”
Elizabeth didn’t wait for her to stop stuttering. She walked straight to the door and into the gardens, where a few people strolled. She was able to find a bench and seated herself gratefully. A fine film of sweat had built upon her upper lip. She touched it with her fingertips, and then looked upon the garden.
“That was quite the show,” a voice said behind her.
Elizabeth turned and the Duke of Summersat, Harold Stonewall, stepped forward.
*****
The Duke of Summersat was a well-built man, with a muscular body, strong shoulders, thick arms, and muscular legs. He wore a military jacket and soldier’s britches, adorned with a dozen or so medals. His face was clean-shaven, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. His jaw was square and strong. His eyes were blue tinged with purple. “I have frightened you,” he said. His voice was cold and calm, untouched by even the slightest emotion.
“Not—not at all,” Elizabeth said, as she overcame the initial shock. “I merely came out here for some fresh air. I did not expect to see the Duke.”
“Well, here I am.” He walked around to the bench and stood over her. “May I?”
“Of course.”
“What happened in there? Lady Barnes seemed quite angry with you.”
“Our fathers do not agree on many things.”
“I have heard,” the Duke said. “I have also heard that Lady Barnes can be sword-sharp with her tongue. You must tell me, how did you rebuff her?”
“I’m sure you have more impressive tales,” Elizabeth said. “War, France, the King.”
He waved his hand. “They are not nearly as impressive as a riposte as expertly executed as yours.”
“It is rather a scandal,” Elizabeth said, whispering conspiratorially. “If I were to tell you, I would need your word that you would not spread the rumor.”
“You have my word, upon the King,” the Duke said seriously.
“Charlotte, two years ago, had a night in the stables with her family’s gardener.”
“A night in the stables, you say? You mean they fucked?”
Elizabeth blushed to her ears. She looked down at her hands, into the bushes, anywhere but into his eyes. When she glanced back, she saw that the Duke was staring steadily at her, his eyes burning into her. She quickly looked away. “That is—err, I believe what happened.”
The Duke nodded, and then jumped to his feet. He offered his arm. “Take a stroll with me, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth accepted his arm and together they began to walk around the gardens. She was aware of the jealous eyes that peeped from behind every bush, but she didn’t care about that. All her thoughts were seized by the Duke’s presence beside hers, by his arm on hers, by the hard muscle that Elizabeth could feel through the fabric of the Duke’s jacket. He led them far to the back of the garden, where none of the other party were, and they sat on a bench.
“It is nice here,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s private,” the Duke said.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It is a great thing,” the Duke said. “I do not want to share you with the rest of the party.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say to this. She looked around the gardens, watching a butterfly chart its course from flower to flower,
watching a caterpillar crawl over and around a leaf.
“Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you crave most in the world?”
Elizabeth was taken aback by this question, and was not sure how to respond. What did she value most in the world? Was it riches? No. Was it love? Perhaps. Was it knowledge? Maybe. “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “What do you, if I may, covet most?”
The Duke shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I merely follow the King, and do as the King orders me.”
“That is a noble pursuit.”
The Duke shrugged again. “Tell me, Elizabeth, have you ever been kissed?”
Elizabeth was twenty years old, she had been an adult now for a long time, but she had never been kissed. She had thought impure thoughts before, and had felt horribly guilty afterwards, but in real life, she had never so much as been held by a man. “I have not,” she whispered.
She almost flinched when the Duke’s hand touched her face. He brushed her chin with his fingertips and then turned her face toward him so they were looking into each other’s eyes. His face was calm and composed. Elizabeth made her face calm and composed, though within she was more scared and excited and alive than she had ever been. The Duke moved his hand down from her chin to her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
The kiss was full of passion. Feelings Elizabeth had not even known she possessed woke within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then moved her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.
“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We are not even engaged.”
The Duke smiled. “The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know—”
“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or so, after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”
“What ever for?” Elizabeth said.
Romance: REGENCY ROMANCE: The Duke of Hearts (Historical Regency Victorian Duke Romance) (Historical Regency Fantasy Romance) Page 3