by Fanny Finch
Charles Duncan, the Duke of Finchester, she thought. In her mind’s eye, she combined the name with the golden head and those fierce grey eyes.
A flutter in her chest made itself known, but Eleanor decided to blame it solely on the excitement of the day.
Chapter 5
Charles Duncan was exhausted by the time he was done with his business for the day.
Finally, he managed to make it back home to his townhouse in Brighton Street. It had been a long day indeed - even longer than he had reckoned it would be when he had set out early that morning to go about seeing to his affairs.
It had turned out that the merchant Charles’s family had trusted all these years, Mr. Raleigh, had remained just and honest. It was his staff who were the culprits.
Charles had decided to deal with them tomorrow. As for Larson, he and Thomas had devised a suitable way to deal with the deceitful gambler.
Now, all he wanted was a good meal, a cold refreshing bath and the feel of his soft bed beneath his back.
He got down from his carriage and began to climb the stairs to the doors of his home. The doors came open as he reached the last step and he gratefully stepped into his abode. He was greeted by his butler, Mr. David Gaius, as the doors closed behind him.
“Welcome, Your Grace. You look especially tired today, and you are back home later than usual.”
Charles sighed, letting his butler take his coat, his hat and his stick. It felt good to be relieved of all these things that seemed like the tons that had been weighing him down all day.
“Thank you, Gaius. Indeed, it was a long day. A very tiring one. So many urgent matters have emerged and I had to attend to all of them before returning home. I know Mother must have had dinner. I only hope a meal awaits me?”
“Certainly, Your Grace. The cook would never think to not save a meal for you. You know this. Beyond that, the Dowager Duchess has not been to the dining room yet. She insisted on waiting for your return.”
Charles sighed at this, heading in the direction of his room. He fancied that a bath and a change into less formal clothes before the meal would be wise.
“I have told my dear mother countless times not to wait up for me when it appears that I am running late but she never listens.”
“You know the Dowager Duchess, Your Grace. She does what her mind tells her to do, and nothing else.”
“She is a stubborn old woman, is what she is. Stubborn and fierce. She listens only to herself.”
“Oh well, pardon me, Your Grace. You know I have great admiration for your mother. I could never speak blasphemy of her.”
This made Charles chuckle. Indeed, Gaius adored the Dowager Duchess, greatly. Not in a romantic way, Charles believed. The memory of his late father would be an impediment to that, even if it had been many years since his passing.
Nevertheless, it was common knowledge that the strength of Lady Emily Duncan was without equal. She was one to be reckoned with and was respected greatly by all.
Charles had been only twenty-six summers of age when his father had died. He still remembered it as if it was yesterday. He still remembered the insecurity of the days that followed.
It had not mattered that he had been prepared all his life to take over the title and responsibilities of Duke of Finchester. When the situation arose, he had still felt as clueless as he could have ever been.
His mother had been of great support in that time. She had put aside her grief and had helped him come into his new responsibility.
With her help, the transition had been easier than Charles could have ever hoped for.
By the time he had become accustomed to being a duke, his mother had gotten well over her grief. Not that she had not loved his father. She had, dearly. However, she had put first what was most important: Finchester.
It was due to her quick and timely actions that Finchester still remained the great duchy that it was today.
In the whole year that took, he never saw her shed a tear, he never saw her break down in grief. He would forever wonder how she had managed the feat.
“You would kiss the ground my mother walks on if she asked you to, Gaius,” he commented.
The butler response was swift, not missing a beat. “Gladly.”
Again, Charles found himself chuckling happily. It helped ease the exhaustion of the day. He rarely laughed these days, except in presence of close family. He considered Gaius to fit that definition.
As he began to climb the stairs, his mother’s voice sounded, stopping him.
“Gaius is a wise man, wouldn’t you agree, dear son? He knows how to choose his allies, and even his enemies, more carefully.”
Charles paused and turned to look at the beautiful woman who had brought him into this world.
“You have been reading those war stories, again, Mother.”
“They help sharpen the mind. A sharpened mind concocts great strategies to win the enemy in times of war,” she replied with an innocent expression.
“You belong in the grand palace, helping the Prince Regent with politics. You were born for it.”
“Why, thank you. It is only a shame that I was born a woman now, is it not? Perhaps, if I had come a man, I would have had a better position, where many would be inclined to listen to what I have to say.”
“You are in that position already and if you had been born a man, I wouldn’t have been your child. I am rather proud to be your son, Mother.”
She snorted as she rose her chin in the air. “You flatter me. Yet, you call me stubborn and unyielding behind my back.”
“The walls have ears, Mother. I knew my words would reach you somehow.”
Charles smiled. “Howbeit, I find no need to whisper when I speak the truth. You are stubborn and unyielding but it is one of the many things that I adore about you.”
He saw her struggle not to smile, and knew he had won this round.
“You should put your charms to finding a woman who will bear me grandchildren. I have grown weary of calling on your sister’s home whenever I wish to play with children of my blood.”
Charles shook his head, not in the least bit surprised at the destination this discussion had arrived.
How she regularly managed to turn any conversation into one about him remarrying, would always baffle him.
Yet, he was appreciative that she made it so subtly, and so light-heartedly, that it only caused the knot in his heart to ache an insignificant bit.
The subject of marriage was a sensitive one for him. One terrible experience had been enough to ruin him for life. It had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was not eager to add to it.
“I shall see you at dinner, Mother. I must go enjoy a refreshing bath now.”
He was already on his way before he finished speaking, not wanting to discuss the topic further. She called after him, all the same.
“See how he completely disregards my admonition and walks away from me when I am not done speaking? Yet I am the stubborn and unyielding one.”
It was said with all the tenderness in the world. Charles wasn’t surprised to hear Gaius reply, “He is your son after all.”
The Dowager Duchess heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Gaius. Whose side are you on? Sometimes I wonder.”
Charles found himself chuckling again. He was immensely grateful for those two. Their good friendship, which challenged class boundaries, pleased him. Between the both of them, they always tried to make him smile in his worst days.
He reached his chambers in good time and began to take off his clothing. As he did, he made a mental recount of all his activities of the day.
When his thoughts arrived at the market scene, the widow who had plagued his mind all day pushed to the forefront.
That woman, she was a thing of mystery to him. He had never met her before that day, yet her eyes haunted him.
They had spoken to him, those orbs of sunshine, as though they saw deep into his soul. And when he had searched them, he had seen secrets, ta
les untold.
She carried a heavy burden, and he had seen that. It was easy to fathom that the burden was the reason why she had frozen in place when her veil had fallen.
He had arrived at the scene before her, and had watched as she stepped forward to save the girl. He had just been about to do the same, but had stepped behind, content to watch her challenge Mr. Rogers.
Her kind gesture spoke a lot about her person, just as her eyes had. He had not been privileged to see her face as she had had her back to him when the veil had fallen off.
She had awakened a curiosity in him. One he had not felt for any woman in a long while. He wanted to know her, he wanted to hear her tell her tale. Why, he couldn’t fathom.
The only thing he had been able to get was her name, before he had had to leave for his urgent matters.
Lady Grenshire.
He had also caught her last name in the whispers around him as he had watched. Ashford. There were so many Ashfords in England.
Her dark clothing also signified that she was a widow, in the first year of her mourning. Things simply did not make enough sense.
Widows were seldom seen in public during the first year of mourning. Who was this woman? And what was her story?
These questions ate at him. However, the most irritating and the most important thing that remained his primary thought was why on earth would these questions insist on plaguing him?
Chapter 6
“What is your name, dear child?” Eleanor asked, handing the girl a cup of tea.
The girl accepted and held the cup with both hands as she gulped from it eagerly. It was so delightful and refreshing to watch, that Eleanor let a bubble of laughter escape from her chest.
She had never seen anything like it. She had been a viscount’s daughter before she had been married to an earl.
Right from the moment she had been able to move her little feet, a governess had been hired to teach her all that she had needed to learn to comport herself in proper manners in the English society, as a lady.
She had never held a tea cup that way. It had always been with her thumb and forefinger, while the littlest finger stuck out, carefully.
She had really hated it then as she was learning, but over the years, it had become so much a part of her, that she now did it without a single thought.
She watched as the child had her fill. A big smile had settled on Eleanor’s lips, while her eyes glinted in amusement and happiness.
The girl only answered the question she had been asked when she dropped the empty cup on the table before her, and wiped her mouth clean with her sleeves.
“Olivia, milady,” the girl spoke, her voice meek and soft.
They were both seated in Eleanor’s drawing room. The sun had just fully risen, but the day was still bright, so there was no need for extra lighting. The natural light that poured in through the window was just sufficient for everyone in the room to see clearly.
When they had returned from the market the evening before, they had all been so tired. Eleanor had instructed that the child be bathed, fed, and dressed in proper clothing.
She had wanted the child to rest with a good night’s sleep first, before they spoke. As this happened, she too had eaten and refreshed herself with a cool bath.
This morning, in the safety and privacy of her home, she had rid herself of the black clothes she had worn the day before. She had chosen a comfortable and plain cream-colored dress that flowed out from her waist.
“Olivia… That is such a beautiful name. And look, you are just as beautiful.”
Indeed, she was. All cleaned up, with her hair combed and styled in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, her beauty could be seen.
The child was indeed pretty. All that she needed was a few weeks of good food and good sleep, and her evident bones would be completely covered with healthy flesh.
“What about your family, Olivia?”
The girl shook her head, looking away to take in everything else in the room. “I have none,” she muttered quietly.
Eleanor had thought as much, yet, hearing it made her heart break.
“Did you ever know them?”
“No. I was raised in a women’s house. They said my mama used to work there, and she died havin’ me. They didn’t know who my father was.”
The girl sniffed. “The madam of the house said I’d be kept an’ fed, but I hafta work for my keep. I grew up cleanin’ an’ washin’. Then one day, the madam came in with one of the big men that visit the other ladies.”
Eleanor’s mouth opened in shock and horror. She brought a hand to her chest over her fluttering heart.
“She told me to make him happy. I didn’t understand nothin’. I thought I’d hafta clean his shoes or something. Then when she left and closed the door, I understood she meant different.”
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, dreading to hear the rest.
“I bit his hand, tore some flesh off and ran out of the room. Madam wasn’t too happy. She had me beaten an’ starved. I also had to do much more chores.”
Olivia spoke about violence and starvation as if they meant nothing, as if she had been used to them. It broke Eleanor’s heart.
“Then, one day, she brought another man. This time, I ran. For good. Been on the streets ever since. I never liked it there, anyway.”
Eleanor was appalled by what she had just heard. Her heart sunk, her stomach churned and her head began to ache slightly. The color had drained from her face and a wave of nausea rose from the pits of her belly.
The worse she had feared, had almost happened to Olivia. Her heart broke for the child. This child who had told her story, bereft of any emotion.
That was what bothered Eleanor the most. Such horrific tale, told so plainly, as though it was fate accepted.
The anger she had felt towards Mr. Rogers was nothing compared to the anger she felt towards this madam in that moment.
Olivia could not be more than eleven. What evil monster would do such horrible deeds to a child?
Willing herself to regain control of her emotions, she shifted in her chair, inching closer to Olivia.
“How long have you been on the streets?”
The girl seemed to think for a while. Her face squeezed in a frown as she concentrated on remembering.
“I’ve seen two winters on the streets, milady. It was winter when I left the women’s house.”
Such innocence. She still did not know where she had lived, who her mother had really been. Eleanor made a silent vow to protect that innocence for as long as she could.
Two winters… a year, and then some. It was often terrible during winter. How had she survived the cold, the hunger?
“How old are you, Olivia?”
“Thirteen, this summer.”
She had thought her younger. The girl was small for her age, but that could be from living on the streets.
“How have you survived so far?”
“I wore breeches in the house. It made workin’ easier. When I left the house, people simply assumed I was a boy. They didn’t bother me much. Just a bit of rough handlin’ evry now an’ then.”
Olivia lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I met with some other boys me age. Sometimes, we did odd jobs, carried things for people and got paid a shilling or two. When there was no job or money, we had to steal or starve.
“Easy pick. We slept anywhere that we could find to lay our heads to rest for the night. I soon learned to go for my needs when no one’s watchin’.”
She ended with another careless shrug, as though her tale meant nothing.
Unable to help herself, Eleanor rose and walked over to her. As she sat by Olivia’s side, she drew her into a warm, loving embrace.
Olivia was startled at first. She froze, remaining rigid in Eleanor’s arms. Still, Eleanor did not let go.
In a bit, she felt the child relax, and when those skinny hands snaked around her waist, she felt a larger hand squeeze her heart.
E
leanor had not been able to make a child with her late husband, Benjamin, before he died. Till that day, she wished she had something to remember him by.
She loved children so much, and could not bear to see any suffer. This was why she made certain that no child roamed the streets untended to in Grenshire.
“You are safe now, Olivia. I’ll keep you with me. You shall work as one of the servants and learn how to do some menial jobs, until you’re old enough to take on more.