The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “I worry that with the perpetrator able to shoot through glass and kill one of his own men that nowhere is truly safe for any of you,” Duncan voiced his concerns. He moved forward into the room and sat down on a chair at the end of the couch near Arthur’s feet.

  “I have had the same concerns,” Eliza admitted, “but Arthur is not able to be moved.”

  Duncan’s brow rose at the use of his friend’s given name as she had not used it in his presence before now. “That is the very reason why I have not spirited you all away into hiding. There is no possible way to safely move you, Arthur. I spoke with Dr. Burns before he left and he concurs. You must remain here at Durton Manor until you are well enough to travel. From the looks of it, that will be some time yet.”

  “Yes, it will,” Eliza agreed. “Have there been any similar incidents at Rosenhill?”

  “None that have been reported,” Duncan answered. “I have a man keeping an eye on the place.”

  “Would the children not be safer there?” Eliza asked.

  “No!” Arthur, Gabriel, and Charlotte all answered at once.

  “I see,” Eliza grew quiet in thought.

  How horrible must the Dowager Duchess truly be if they are all willing to place themselves in the line of fire to remain free of her.

  Aloud she said, “Very well. We shall stay.”

  Gabriel and Charlotte grinned, and Arthur gingerly reached over to fondly tousle their hair. “As you wish, Governess,” Arthur replied in jest.

  “Forgive me for the interruption, Your Grace, but we have received another gift,” Mr. White’s voice informed. They all turned to see what the butler was referring to and found another black crow with a white arrow dangling from his fingers in disgust. “Shall I throw it out, Your Grace?”

  “We should examine it first,” Duncan replied.

  “Very well, Your Grace,” Mr. White bowed and entered the drawing room to hold the fowl up for their examination.

  “It appears to be much like the first in every particular was except perhaps the angle of the arrow’s entry through the body,” Duncan observed.

  “I concur,” Arthur agreed. “It is exactly as it was with my father’s calling cards.”

  “Was there a Mark or Marcum within your father’s close acquaintance or his ledgers?” Eliza asked.

  “Yes, there were a few Marks within the ledgers, but no Marcum that I can recall,” Arthur answered scrunching his forehead in remembrance.

  “Perhaps it is time for me or my men to pay a call to the gentlemen within the ledger,” Duncan replied a threatening edge to his voice.

  “You are the last of your line, Duncan. You are already putting your life in enough danger on my behalf as it is. You owe it your father to not take chances with your life at least until you have sired an heir,” Arthur reminded his friend.

  “A dull life indeed is one that avoids all dangers in life,” Duncan retorted not wishing to be curtailed in defense of his friend.

  “But it is a life,” Arthur pointed out solemnly.

  “Well, sending my men will not put anyone’s life in danger. They can simply investigate from a distance whether any of the Marks in the ledger exhibit suspicious behavior then report back to us,” Duncan replied crossing his arms over his chest in frustration.

  Eliza could tell he was a man of action and did not like being kept out of the fray. “Your men are becoming quite skilled at a wide range of tasks,” she noted to Duncan. “Messengers, guards…”

  “Nursemaids,” Arthur interjected humorously gesturing with his hand to his wounded side. “Quite a lovely row of stitches you and Mr. White have gifted me with.”

  “’Tis good for a man to be accomplished in many spheres of life,” Duncan retorted good-humoredly.

  “Do not let the rest of the ton hear you speak such sacrilege,” Arthur laughed then winced. “Must remember not to laugh,” he groaned holding his side.

  “’Twould help if you did not find yourself so humorous,” Duncan teased causing Arthur to chuckle once more.

  “Oh, cease with your inept observations, my dear fellow, before I rip open your lovely handiwork,” Arthur teased in return.

  It was good to see the two Dukes in jovial spirits though Eliza suspected that they were putting on a show of it for her and the children’s sake. She herself had been wearing a mask of bravery since she rode out to find the Duke near death upon the road. On the inside, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and hide, while another side of her wished to fight back with every bit of internal fortitude she possessed.

  A tiny snore interrupted the conversation and Eliza look down to find both children had fallen asleep together with their heads upon her lap. She smiled at them tenderly and smoothed the hair back from their faces. “Sleep sweet, my darlings,” she whispered. Looking up at Duncan she raised a brow in question. “Should we move them?”

  “Allow them to stay,” Arthur answered. “There are no windows in this room making it the safest in the house,” he reasoned.

  Duncan nodded his head. “Arthur is correct. It is the safest room in the manor house. I have guards posted throughout the house and grounds. No one will be able to get in or out and escape notice.”

  “Shall we make them more comfortable then? A blanket perhaps?” Eliza suggested.

  “Of course,” Duncan agreed. “Shall I move them from your person?”

  “No, let them remain as they are. It is clear they needed the comfort of being among those who care for them,” Eliza noted, remembering their reaction to the idea of returning home to Rosenhill.

  “Indeed,” Arthur agreed. “You are good with them.”

  “They are quite easy to be fond of,” Eliza replied, caressing the heads of hair in her lap.

  “I wish their other governesses had thought so,” Arthur remarked frowning. “But then we would not have found you,” he noted changing his frown to a friendly smile of appreciation.

  “Indeed,” Duncan murmured. When Eliza turned her gaze to his, he held it for a moment then looked away and arose to acquire the promised blankets for the children.

  What is he thinking when he looks at me in such a fashion?

  She looked over at Arthur and found him wearing a similar look. Eliza looked away confused. She was missing something, but she was not quite sure what it was.

  Duncan returned with the blankets and a few pillows to prop up behind Eliza’s back so that she would be more comfortable. Eliza knew that sitting upon the floor of the dressing room as she was indecorous at best, but given the circumstances in which they found themselves, she supposed that society would just have to excuse her this once for her lapse in decorum.

  “Comfortable?” Duncan asked as he stood back up after positioning the pillows to his satisfaction.

  “Yes, quite. Thank you,” Eliza replied leaning back against them. Turning to Arthur, she asked, “How is your fever? Do you feel it has broken?”

  “’Tis better,” Arthur reassured her.

  “Please keep a cold compress upon your face to ensure that it remains so,” Eliza requested, unable to move her body in such a way as to accomplish it herself with the children in her lap.

  “Yes, of course. I thank you for your continuous care and concern,” Arthur replied smiling at her fondly. “Now I believe it would be best if you were to get some rest yourself.”

  “But who will care for you?” Eliza asked.

  “I will,” Duncan answered sitting back down in his chair at Arthur’s feet.

  “But you have not rested sufficiently,” Eliza argued.

  “I will be fine,” Duncan assured her. “We have all had quite the adventure and could use the quiet.”

  “As you wish,” Eliza reluctantly agreed and leaned back closing her eyes. She fell asleep soon after to the sound of Gabriel’s gentle snoring and the hum of the duke’s quiet conversation.

  The last thing she remembered hearing was Duncan’s voice. “We will catch whoever is responsible for this, A
rthur, no matter what it takes. I swear it.”

  Chapter 16

  Arthur lay upon the couch and watched the sleeping forms of those he held most dear. Gabriel and Charlotte slept the peaceful sleep that only comes to the young. He envied them that. He had not slept well in years, and when he did, his sleep was plagued with dreams of horrible things. His gaze next fell upon Eliza. He traced the curve of her cheek with his eyes until he came to her lips. He could not help but wonder if they were as soft and smooth as they looked.

  Like silk.

  Remembering Duncan, he turned to look at his friend and found he too was gazing upon the exquisite features of the beautiful governess.

  He wishes to claim her for his own, he noted, but I cannot allow him to do so. My future may lie elsewhere, but I could not bear to watch her with another, especially the man I love as a brother. The idea of seeing the two of them together day in and day out would be my undoing.

  He had awakened to find her angelic face so near his own and had had no choice but to reach out and caress it. Heaven could not have provided a more desirable greeting than to have her skin against his own. He could still feel where her tear had landed on his hand. She had felt soft, smooth; a lovelier face he had not seen and yet she would never be his. The reality felt as if it caused actual physical pain in his chest, but he convinced himself it was just his wound causing him discomfort and nothing more.

  He longed to reach out and caress her face a second time. To feel the warmth of her velvet skin upon his palm, the curl of her hair between his fingers. He could tell from the expression on Duncan’s face that he too longed for the same and more, much more. “She is not meant for us, Duncan.”

  “Of that, I am well aware,” Duncan remarked a bitter sorrow edged his voice. “I cannot help how I feel any more than you can, but the difference betwixt us is you could have her. It is you she cares for. I would but be a second choice, and I love her too much for that.”

  “Love?” Arthur questioned incredulously. “You are barely acquainted with her.”

  “I know her better than I have ever known another besides yourself. She possesses the adventurous spirit of an intrepid explorer, the bravery of a battle weathered soldier, and a grace that surpasses any lady of the ton. You are a fool if you let her slip through your fingers as if she were naught but sand upon the beach.” Duncan spoke to Arthur but never took his eyes from Eliza’s face. “You cannot deny that you care for her as well.”

  Arthur studied his friend’s face and found pain and longing written there in such sharp lines that he nearly reached out to comfort him. “You are right, but it changes nothing.”

  “It should change everything. I would give all but to hold her heart as my own. Reputation and society be damned,” Duncan swore.

  “Then what keeps you from following your desires?” Arthur asked feeling somewhat angry yet sympathetic at the same time.

  “You, Arthur. She has eyes only for you.”

  “No!” The word startled both men. Arthur was embarrassed that he and Duncan had been caught once more discussing Eliza while she slept. Must be more courteous in the future. He turned to apologize and found her still asleep. “No!” She cried out causing Arthur to breathe a sigh of relief that they had not been overheard. His relief was short lived replaced by concern.

  “Eliza,” Duncan sunk down to his knees beside her sleeping form and attempted to wake her. “Eliza,” he touched her shoulder and shook it gently.

  “No!” She cried out for the third time.

  “Eliza!” Arthur and Duncan exclaimed together.

  “Yes?” she mumbled emerging from the dream. “Has something happened?” She asked looking from duke to duke with a worried expression upon her face.

  “No, all is well. You were dreaming,” Duncan soothed. “You cried out.”

  “My apologies,” Eliza replied nodding her head in understanding.

  “There is no need. We were simply concerned for your wellbeing,” Arthur explained. “Go back to sleep. All is well.”

  Eliza looked down at the children in her lap, adjusted their blankets to cover them more fully, then leaned back and closed her eyes once more. Duncan arose and sat back down in his chair. When Arthur was sure that Eliza was asleep, he looked to Duncan with his delayed reply, “You are wrong.”

  * * *

  “I have no more sway with Arthur than you do, Ludlow,” Margaret Huntley, Dowager Duchess of Rosenhill, declared to the Marquess of Denlington as he paced her drawing room floor.

  “Without the higher status that the Duke of Rosenhill brings to our criminal empire, things are falling apart at the seams. The men are becoming less and less obedient. Noblemen we have blackmailed for years are now refusing to pay. I had hoped when he sent the Duke of Durton to speak with me that he was beginning to come around to my way of thinking, but he has hidden himself away and not communicated with me since,” the Marquess complained.

  “You are better off without my late husband or his horrible offspring. All will work in your favor again with a bit of brute force and the flash of coin. Now cease your pacing and come sit with me,” Margaret commanded patting the seat beside her.

  Ludlow obeyed and moved to sit next to her. “Perhaps we should go and visit him at Durton. After all, is it not your motherly duty to look in on your son’s recovery?”

  “I care not for motherly duties,” she retorted.

  “Societal duty then?” Ludlow corrected.

  Sighing in dissatisfaction, Margaret huffed as she straightened the skirt of her dress in irritation. “I suppose we could pay a brief visit to Durton Manor.”

  “Excellent, we shall depart this very moment.” Ludlow rose swiftly to his feet and rang the bell for the butler.

  “Ludlow, must we go today?” Margaret asked hoping he would change his mind.

  “Yes, no better time than the present,” he insisted.

  The butler, Mr. Danvers, entered the room. “You rang, Your Grace,” he asked the dowager duchess.

  “I did,” the Marquess stepped forward asserting himself. “Have a carriage prepared for myself and the Duchess immediately.”

  “Right away, My Lord,” Mr. Danvers bowed and left to obey.

  “We really should announce ourselves first then call upon him tomorrow,” Margaret insisted.

  “Fret not. This is for the best. You will be welcomed with open arms,” Ludlow reassured her.

  I do not give a fig as to whether I will be welcome. I simply do not wish to go.

  Margaret tempered her frustration before she spoke. “As you wish,” she sighed. If it pleased him so much, she supposed she could summon the energy to pretend as though she cared.

  “Splendid, darling,” Ludlow kissed her hand then assisted her to her feet from her place upon the settee.

  “I must go and change into something more appropriate for travel,” Margaret informed him.

  His eyebrow raised in question, “’Tis but a brief journey.”

  “I will be dressed appropriately for the occasion, or I shall not go,” Margaret argued with a haughty air.

  “Of course, my dear,” Ludlow bowed. “I will await you at the carriage.”

  Margaret ascended the stairs to her bedchamber and closed the door behind her. She entered her dressing room and found her lady’s maid awaiting her there. “I took the liberty of laying out your favorite travel dress when I heard Mr. Danvers order the carriage, Your Grace,” the maid said curtsying upon Margaret’s entry.

  Margaret waved her hand in approval and allowed herself to be dressed. The things we women do for love. She sighed as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She patted her silver-blonde hair into place and assessed the lines around her eyes.

  I am not as young as I once was.

  She thought back to the day she had met Ludlow Finch. She had been so young and innocent, unaware of the difficulties life could hold. We met at a ball and fell instantly and madly in love. He had told her she was the most beautiful l
ady in all of England. Looking in the mirror, she wondered if he still felt the same.

  He had courted her for months until the day came when his father died, and he inherited the title of Marquess. After the appropriate time of mourning Ludlow had petitioned her father for her hand in marriage but was rejected. He had waited too long, and Margaret’s father had already given his consent to the despicable Duke of Rosenhill, Hugh Huntley.

  Margaret fought the urge to spit in disgust at the reminder of her late husband. I hated Hugh when he was alive, and I hate him now, along with anything that reminds me of him. His children were a constant reminder that she could not, as their mother, quite bring herself to despise, but she survived their presence by ignoring them as much as was possible. Indifference was the strongest emotion she could manage where they were concerned.