Thank you again! I hope this book brightened your day.
About the Author
Charlotte Fitzwilliam was raised in Manchester, England and graduated from University in London with a Masters of English, which focused on 18th Century and Romantic Studies. Her passion since young adulthood was reading and writing romantic regency stories.
Charlotte feels like she is living a dream life as she often brings coffee or tea to the country side. She sits beneath a tree with her laptop to dream and write about proud dukes and ladies in long dresses falling in love.
My Secret Duke by Eliza Heaton
To my grandmother and my grandfather. This book is a story not unlike their own.
Contents
My Secret Duke
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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About the Author
My Secret Duke
1
Spring 1812
London, England
The London spring was just beginning to rear its head after months of snow and ice. Tender, green leaves were growing on the ends of branches; tufts of grass were replacing the dead, brown stalks of the previous season. Robins returned to the garden as they sang. The world was welcoming the new season, but inside the sitting room of one London townhome, upon a confection of royal blue silk and embroidered tufted pillows, sat a blond woman with her sole companion, warming themselves as a fire burned in the hearth, a necessity to ward off the chill of the early spring day.
“I have never been so terrified in all of my life! I was nearly killed!” exclaimed Gabby, as she slowly stirred the steaming hot tea in the china cup she held in her hand.
Miss Gabriella Parker was the youngest child and only daughter of Mr. Cecil Parker, a wealthy landowner from Kent. Gabby, a petite person, who possessed thick blond hair and a complexion that was perfectly rosy, was seated demurely on a chair. Her posture was that of a queen holding court. Positioned beside the fireplace in a high-ceilinged sitting room, she glanced out the large window to her right and gathered her thoughts, her story consumed her—and she did not behold the spectacular view of the walled garden and brown squirrels chattering and playing.
“Oh my! Tell me what happened!" Barbara Anderzimple pleaded while moving to the edge of her seat. Miss Parker's tall and thin but plain companion stared at her from her seat on the blue upholstered couch, her eyes as wide as the saucer that held her teacup.
The young women, the beauty and her plain companion, were privileged and wealthy, and so they did not notice their surroundings, as they were quite accustomed to the luxury and splendor which surrounded them. The room was decadently enticing. Priceless handwoven rugs lay underfoot, woven in a design of vines and flowers entwining that suggested the same colors of the garden that was visible beyond the windows. The room, lit by natural light, was bathed in the golden glow of the candles. The gilding of the delicate trim that ornately festooned the walls and the ceiling, and around the edge of the bone china teacups, glimmered in golden splendor, which was reflected from the warm and fragrant fire in the hearth. From the expensive sheen of their afternoon dresses to the polish of the ornately carved wood of the chairs and the tables, the sitting room in which these two young women were enjoying tea and polite conversation was just one example of the unimaginable wealth of the family that owned the townhouse. Every room was lavishly furnished, as was to be expected inside a magisterial residence that boasted marble mantles, granite columns, and an entrance way as grand as the prince regent’s own palace, an address that was not far away by carriage.
Yet, these two women barely noticed anything other than the conversation they were enjoying. They did not pay the slightest attention to the reassuring aroma of tea and cream as steam rose from their teacups, or the smell of sugar from the tea cakes arranged to perfection on bone china plates. Nor did they seem to observe how cozy the room was from the crackling fire in the hearth, as the blonde woman smiled in triumph as she tempted her friend to listen to her tale.
With glee, Gabby said, “Perhaps I better not tell you.”
"You must! I will not have a minute of peace until you tell me how you almost died!” replied Miss Barbara in a high-pitched voice. Barbara, who appeared to be no more than twenty years of age, was transfixed, as she gazed at her friend and anxiously nibbled on a slice of tea cake like a mouse.
“Very well, if you would like for me to recount the tale. I must warn you that it is not for the faint of heart. Are you prone to fainting? If so, tell me at once, and I will not speak of the matter of my kidnapping.”
Miss Gabriella waited for her words to have their desired effect.
Her companion dropped the remainder of the tea cake onto the delicate plate that she held in her hand as she gasped. “Kidnapping! You were kidnapped? I cannot believe it! Gabby, you did not tell me that you were kidnapped. I thought you were almost murdered, which is terrible, but kidnapped too? You poor dear thing! How dreadful!”
With her bright blue eyes, she was considered a beauty who was not only in possession of desirable physical attributes, but she also possessed an independent nature. Her companion, Miss Barbara, was Gabby’s dearest friend in London. A timid unremarkable girl, Barbara was Gabby’s most ardent supporter and a loyal follower; she was also incredibly sweet and naïve. Those traits, which made Barbara a delightful if gullible companion, were the same attributes that Gabby enjoyed exploiting—but only in a friendly sort of manner, as she did on this afternoon.
“Gabby, you must tell me everything, you must! I shall not faint. I give you my word,” Barbara said, as she set down the plate and wrung her hands. “I implore you!”
“If you insist, but I would not share this story with anyone else. It is such a terrifying tale that I fear not many women would have the constitution to hear it. You have given me your word that you will not swoon or faint, so I will tell you of my harrowing ordeal. It began at a late hour on a summer’s afternoon last July. I was journeying from a village that is near to our house in Kent. I remember it well. I shiver to think of it, but I shall tell you since you are my dearest friend. There was a frightful storm. The thunder was as loud as cannon fire; the lightning was dreadful. I feared I should be struck; the wind and rain were terrible. My footman was drenched and so was the driver. The horses did not want to move for fear. I was in my carriage scared that if we did not reach the house, we should be drowned by a flood or singed to death by the lightning.”
“I am afraid of storms; the lightening scares me!” Barbara replied raising her hands to her face.
“The storm was the worst I have ever seen, but there was no choice. We had to reach home. The driver urged the horses to quicken their pace. The carriage bumped and jostled so appallingly that I was sure we would come to pieces, but I could not be afraid of such a fate—not when we entered the woods. I was frightened, and so were my men; the woods were not safe for man or beast after dark and during storms.”
“Why? Was there something in the woods that made you afraid?” asked Barbara, as she wrung her hands nervously.
“Yes, but I dare not tell you; it is too dreadful.”
“Please, you must tell me!”
Gabby smiled as she continued, “In the woods lurked no beast or ghost, but the infamous highwayman. A ruthless criminal who preys upon all who enter the woods late at night or during a storm.”
Barbara gasped, her face grew pale as she exclaimed, “A highwayman?”
“Yes, Barbara, a highwayman. A ruthless, vile creature. He rides with his band of men, stealing from the good people of Kent and kidnapping those he thinks will bring him a ransom. If I had known that would be my fate, I would never have tried to brave the road to return home that day. I should have remained in the
village. I may have sought refuge in the inn, but I could not know that.”
“This is dreadful! It is the most terrible thing I have ever heard,” remarked Barbara.
“If you think that the story is dreadful, can you imagine my fright when we were attacked by these vicious thieves? They set upon us like hounds on the hunt. Their horses were swift; they came out of the dark night like demons from the trees. I screamed, but I could do nothing; my carriage was too heavy, and my horses could not outrun them. With rapiers high and their pistols aimed at my men, they forced us to stop. We were surrounded! I wanted to faint, but I knew that if I did, I would not be able to defend myself.”
By this point in her story, Barbara had reached for another slice of cake, which she was chewing at a furious rate as Gabby continued her tale. “I did not have anything to use as a weapon, but I was not without means. I have six brothers, as you well know. I have learned how to hit and punch since I was young. I was ready when the leader of the rabble burst into the carriage. He wore a black hat and a cape; he had a mask over his face, but I could see his eyes as he glared at me. They were as cruel as his sneer. He reached for me, and I fought back, but I was could not match his strength. He pulled his pistol from his leather belt and threatened my life.”
Barbara nearly choked on her cake as she swallowed it then exclaimed, “He threatened you with a pistol?”
“Yes, he did. He told me he would kill my men and steal my horses if I did not do as he demanded. I could not let him kill my men or take my horses. What could I do? I had to do as he said, no matter how depraved his demands. I sacrificed myself for the sake of others,” Gabby said in a whisper.
Barbara leaned in close, as she asked, “He was depraved? What did he demand?”
“He demanded that I accompany him to his lair. My jewels were not what he wanted. He wanted to hold me for ransom.”
“Ransom? Were you terrified? I would have been frightened to death!
“I was afraid, but I had to be brave. If I showed fear, he might have done worse to me than take me for ransom. He tied my hands and forced me onto his horse, an animal that was tall and black, a mount for the devil’s own soldiers. He climbed onto the horse behind me, and we rode away into the night. The rain pelted us, the storm raged, and we rode into the woods, deeper and farther than I have ever been. He laughed, a terrible sound that makes me shudder to think of it!”
“You were in his clutches being hauled away to a terrible fate? How did you not faint? I should have fainted straight away! Did you think you would be killed?”
Gabby replied, “I prayed that I should be killed rather than suffer at his hands. I dare not describe the terrors I imagined that night as he carried me away.”
Barbara swooned, leaning back in her chair as Gabby smiled in fiendish delight. The cake in Barbara’s hand fell into a crumbled mess on her dress.
“Barbara, Barbara? You promised not to faint.”
“I did not faint. I was overcome. I am better now. You must finish the story,” Barbara replied, as she wiped the crumbs of cake from her dress.
“No, Miss Anderzimple, Gabriella will do no such thing,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway of the sitting room.
Gabby turned to see her mother standing in the doorway of the sitting room, the older woman’s arms were crossed, which matched her dour expression. Mrs. Parker was the spitting image of her daughter but older and a little rounder around the middle. Her hair was blond but becoming gray, which was not easily noticed as she wore it in the latest fashion, of curls close to her forehead and a top knot high on her head. She was frowning and tapping her foot, as if she was awaiting an explanation. Gabby knew she had to say something as she swallowed.
“Mama, I did not see you. How long have you been standing there?” asked Gabby as she fanned Barbara.
“Gabriella Parker, I have been standing here long enough to know that you must put an end to this incessant need for dramatics,” her mother said, as she swooped into the room. She approached Barbara, who was recovering, and said in a gentle tone of voice, “Are you well enough to return to the drawing room? Your mother wishes to call for her carriage. It would never do to have her see you in this state.”
“I am recovered,” Barbara Anderzimple said as she sat up. “Do not tell mother I was ill, that I had fainted. She will call for the doctor and the apothecary. She may not permit me to go to any balls this week!”
“I will not say a word to her about your condition. I do not hold you to blame. My daughter can be convincing when she tells these stories,” explained Mrs. Parker.
“Barbara, it was a story. I promise you that I am well. I was never kidnapped by a highwayman. There was no ransom. Do you feel better?” asked Gabby.
“You were not nearly killed?” Barbara inquired.
Gabby shook her head as she said, “No, my dearest Barbara. I was not nearly killed. I am sorry if I told you such an outrageous story, but it was a good tale, was it not?”
Barbara blinked several times as she said, “I believed you; I believed that it was real.”
“I know, and I am sorry. Do you forgive me?” Gabby asked under her mother’s reproachful eye.
“I forgive you,” remarked Barbara with a smile. “It was a thrilling story. Better than any novel.”
“Thank you. If you like that tale, the next time we have tea, I shall tell you of the time I was captured by pirates!” Gabby answered.
“No, you will not, Gabriella! You must cease this childish habit of telling fanciful stories. Both of you come along to the drawing room,” Mrs. Parker demanded, as she turned and left the sitting room.
“It was not true? None of it?” asked Barbara.
Gabby shrugged. “Some of it was true. There was a storm in Kent, and the woods are there—just as I described.”
“What a tale! It was exciting! I do not mind that it was made up. You should send it to The Times; I bet they would print it!” urged Barbara.
“I could not possibly do that. Mama loathes my stories; she says they are ridiculous and silly, but I must do something to occupy my time.”
“You can tell me about the pirates the next time we have tea. I promise not to faint.” Barbara smiled.
“Then you have my word, you shall be my audience for the thrilling story of my pirate adventure,” Gabby replied.
“Thank you so very much!” squealed Barbara, as she stood to her feet. “That story was dreadful! I adored it; it was so much better than half of the books I have read!”
“Thank you for your compliment. I promise that the next one will be much better, but I cannot think of that at this moment. Your mother will wonder what is keeping you, and my mother will scold me for an hour if I am not careful. It seems impossible for her to understand that there is nothing to do in London but tea, strolls, carriage rides, and balls. I long for adventure!” Gabby said to her companion.
“But Gabby, this is an adventure. We are not here for dinners and balls—although they are awfully fun. You and I are here to find husbands! Do you not think that is exciting?”
“Exciting? I suppose that you may be right. But why does finding a husband have to be so boring? The whole endeavor is dull. I find sitting at dinner for two hours to be tedious; tea is just as boring, and the carriage rides are always in the park. I need something exciting, something thrilling. Perhaps I will meet a man who is in possession of a secret, a romantic sort of person who has a dark past?” Gabby suggested in a dreamy voice.
Barbara giggled. “I would be content to meet a man who wants to marry me. I would not care if he was tedious and boring as long as he asked me to be his wife!”
“Dear Barbara, you do not hope for very much, do you? Well, that is better than me. I hope for a debonair gentleman who has been touched by scandal, a man who would be a scoundrel if he chose to be but is a good man through and through. Oh, and he must be handsome!”
“You do not ask for very much do you, just a man who exists in a novel!” Barb
ara said. “Come along, we have to go to the drawing room. Your mother, my mother, and a host of women whose names I cannot recall will wonder what has become of us.” Barbara pulled Gabby by the arm.
“This is my first Season and your second; surely there has to be more to it than tea with our mothers,” Gabby lamented.
“Come along, we must attend to our duty—and that duty is tea.”
Gabby could not argue with Barbara about that point or anything else her charmingly plain and naive friend said. This was her first Season. As the daughter of a wealthy landowner, her primary duty was to her family. She must act and do everything expected of a proper young woman. Her second duty, which was the sole purpose for coming to London and far more important than the first, was to find a husband. If she was successful, she would find a gentleman in her first year, an admirable goal. If she was not successful, she would be like Barbara, who was still searching for a husband in her second year. “Second years”—as they were known—were not as scorned as women who were unmarried by their third and fourth years, but they were anxious. No one wanted to be considered unwanted goods. It was a common opinion held by many about the young woman who did not find a husband in her first or second years out in society. Gabby was not worried about such things, at least not yet. She was nineteen years of age. She was only half way through her first Season, so she reasoned she had plenty of time to be silly and write stories and do as she pleased.
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 28