The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance

by Kate Carteret

  “My goodness, that really does sound very sad indeed.”

  “As I said, she has always been quiet. Not troubled as she is now, but she has struggled under the weight of grief for many years.”

  “Her parents?”

  “Her mother died in childbirth and so she has never known her. But still I think a child grieves for the loss of that most important connection.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Anabelle said and felt suddenly dreadfully melancholy.

  “And then their father died. Lady Lucy was only five, and her brother, at just eighteen, was suddenly forced into the responsibility of Duke. But he had his sisters to care for and they were so small. They were so grief stricken when their father passed that His Grace had little time to tend to his own sadness.”

  “The Duke has another sister?” Anabelle said, wondering why she had not yet heard of her.

  “The last Duke had been passed away only a year when Jennifer died in an accident. The girls were six then; they were twins you see.”

  “Oh, my goodness, poor Lady Lucy. No mother, her father just gone, and then her twin sister killed in an accident? It is grief enough to suffer the passing of a parent when you are an adult, I cannot begin to imagine how it is a child manages. And surely a twin is the closest of all relationships.” Anabelle blinked hard at tears; she would not cry again that day.

  “His Grace and Lady Lucy’s lives have been filled with tragedy, Miss Brock. The whole estate was thrown into grief, but none more than that dear brother and sister. And His Grace was so young to have so much tragedy to deal with. He had to keep his chin up and his shoulders back and do everything in his power to convince his little sister that everything would be all right.”

  “And now he is suffering again. They both are.” Anabelle said and thought it little wonder that poor Lucy had let go of reason.

  “Even when a man is given every material advantage in this world, it is no guarantee of happiness. I have been at Westward Hall since I was a young widow of twenty, almost forty years ago now, and I was well established by the time His Grace was born. He was Master Giles then, and a naughty little tyke he was.” Mrs Arklow stared into the middle distance as if looking at a scene from the past. “He was always up to mischief of some sort, such a fun and very loving child. I would often look up from my work to see his nurse chasing him across the grounds, doing everything she could to keep up and catch him.” She laughed herself. “But if I shouted to him, he knew better than to keep running.”

  “You care for him greatly, Mrs Arklow?”

  “Indeed, I do. I care for them both. They were set adrift at a young age.”

  “As were you, Mrs Arklow, to be a widow so young. You must understand such grief very well yourself.” Anabelle was grateful that her new friend had parted with as much personal information as she had herself. It made her feel as if they had already drawn close. “Your own experiences must surely have given you greater understanding.”

  “I suppose that much is true, my dear. It all seems like a lifetime ago. Forty years; for some people that is a lifetime.” She leaned forward and began to rearrange the plates into a neat stack, tidying the little tray. “Right, I think it is time for you to rest your head for an hour or two.” She began to rise.

  “Thank you for your kindness and care, Mrs Arklow. I really do feel so much better already.”

  “And you will undoubtedly feel better with a little rest. I will come back for you in two hours. That will give us time for a little walk about before afternoon tea. And after that, if you are up to it, I will show you as much of the house as you can manage in the afternoon.” And with that, Mrs Arklow lifted the tray and departed.

  With the idea that she probably would not sleep a wink, Anabelle took off her ankle boots and lay down on top of the bed. And within seconds, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  When Anabelle awoke the next morning, she was truly surprised to discover that she had slept solidly through the night. She had imagined that her first night in a strange place, in a strange bed, and having yet to meet the young lady she was to be a companion to, would easily keep her awake.

  But her mind had not twisted and turned as it had done for much of the preceding months. Perhaps it was finally giving in, surrendering to the idea of a new life, which had allowed her to sleep so soundly. Perhaps it was walking what felt like miles as she spent the afternoon with Mrs Arklow doing her best to learn the layout of Westward Hall.

  Whatever it was, Anabelle was grateful for it. She sat up in bed and stretched and felt truly refreshed by her sleep for the first time in a very long time. Longer than she could remember, in fact. Perhaps this was a good sign, a fortuitous omen.

  She rose from her bed and crossed the room to the large windows, feeling the softness of the pale oriental rug beneath her bare feet as she went. Her chamber faced out onto the back of the estate and she stared off into the distance at each of the well-kept paths which snaked this way and that, going in all directions, into the woodland beyond, much further than she could see. The sun was shining, and the sky was that wonderful pale blue which spoke of the approaching autumn. Soon the green leaves on the trees all around the estate would be turning wonderful shades of red, gold, and orange.

  As she stared out, Anabelle wondered if she truly would have the opportunity to wander the estate, to discover wonderful walks and quiet places in which she could relax and enjoy her surroundings.

  Her peace was interrupted by a light knock on the door of her chamber. She turned from the window as a young maid, smiling and pretty, came into the room carrying a pretty floral porcelain water jug.

  “Warm water, Miss.” The maid said by way of explanation as she set the jug down next to the bowl on the wash stand.

  “Thank you kindly.” Anabelle said and returned the smile. “What is your name?”

  “I am Miriam, Miss.” The young woman said and seemed pleased for the newcomer’s interest in her.

  “I am Anabelle, Miriam, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

  “And I am pleased to meet you too, Miss.” Miriam said, her smile broadening. “I shall leave you with your warm water and return in half an hour with your breakfast. Mrs Arklow said I was to bring your breakfast to you here this morning and then you can decide where you would prefer to take breakfast in the future.”

  “Oh, that is thoughtful, thank you.” Anabelle said, wondering if she was in a little dream of sorts.

  For everything that could have gone so horribly wrong, it appeared that everything would seem to be going right. Life had been so stressful in so many ways and for so long that Anabelle cynically felt that she ought not to trust this seeming change in her fortunes.

  But how could she not trust the kindness of Mrs Arklow and now Miriam, the smiling and pretty maid? The Duke, of course, was another matter. She was not yet sure if she ought to trust him or not. He was handsome and upright and Mrs Arklow had described him as a good and fair man. But he had, she was sure she would never forget, threatened to crush her if she did not follow his instructions in terms of secrecy.

  She understood his need for secrecy and she knew she would never breach it, she just did not understand the threat. Perhaps she would need a little more time to decide what sort of a man the Duke of Westward was for herself.

  “I will be back shortly.” Miriam said before darting out of the room.

  The water was very warm indeed and very welcome and Anabelle felt better still for washing thoroughly. She dressed herself in one of the few gowns that she possessed. It was a well-made and serviceable gown in a deep mulberry shade. It had long sleeves and a sensible neckline with a very simple narrowband just beneath the bust. It was the very thing for work; smart and hard-wearing.

  She brushed her thick, wheat-colored hair until it fell in soft waves about her shoulders before winding it into a full bun at the back of her head and expertly pinning it.

  Despite enjoying certain privileges in years gone by w
hen her father’s fortunes had been better, she had always looked after herself, tending to all her personal requirements without assistance. She was glad of it now, for it meant she could be well turned out by her own hand. She was coming to admire her own self-sufficiency, to be grateful for it.

  When she had been ready no more than a few minutes, Miriam returned with her breakfast tray. She set it down on the table that Mrs Arklow had asked one of the footmen to deliver the afternoon before and Anabelle could smell the wonderful aromas which caused her stomach to quietly rumble.

  “Enjoy your breakfast, Miss.” Miriam said when she had finished setting out the plates and cutlery.

  “Thank you, Miriam.”

  “Mrs Arklow will be along for you shortly so that you might meet Lady Lucy, Miss.” Miriam continued.

  “Oh good, it is a relief to know how the morning is to proceed.” Anabelle said, voicing her feelings allowed.

  “Will that be all, Miss?”

  “Yes, thank you again, Miriam.” She said as the young maid smiled and disappeared from the room.

  Anabelle sat down at the table and gratefully tucked into the hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage meat, and tomatoes with a little slice of pound cake and an apple. The tea was strong and hot and Anabelle realised, when she had finished her meal, that she felt healthy and strong and absolutely ready to begin her day.

  She was so well rested and well fed that Anabelle thought she could easily face any challenge the day might hold for her and, despite the last fluttering of nerves, she was looking forward to beginning her new life.

  Nonetheless, when Mrs Arklow knocked at her door sometime later, her heart began to pound, and those little nerves grew. But perhaps this was the final hurdle before life settled into some sort of rhythm.

  “Did you sleep well, Miss Brock?” Mrs Arklow said as she came into the room.

  “I slept wonderfully well, Mrs Arklow. And the breakfast was so fine that I have eaten every bite. Thank you.” Anabelle rose to her feet and straightened her gown, looking to Mrs Arklow for some sign of approval.

  “You do look very well this morning, my dear. A good sleep is very health-giving, I always think.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, it is time for you to meet Lady Lucy.” Mrs Arklow rubbed her hands together as if preparing for some sort of arduous task. “His Grace is waiting outside.”

  “Outside my room?” Anabelle said in a whisper.

  “Yes, he is going to introduce you to Lady Lucy. She looks to him for safety, you see, and things will go a lot better if he is the one to take you to her. I will be there too, of course. In fact, His Grace has given me leave to stay all day with you in case you have any questions or need any assistance whilst you are getting to know your way around.”

  “I must say, that is something of a comfort.” Anabelle was still whispering, feeling a little self-conscious that the Duke might be outside the door listening to her very words.

  “Well, shall we?” Mrs Arklow smiled reassuringly and opened the door.

  As soon as she stepped out into the corridor Anabelle realised that the Duke had not been standing directly outside her chamber door. He was standing some feet away outside another door; the door to Lucy Saville’s chamber.

  He turned to face her and smiled briefly, inclining his head very slightly in greeting.

  “I hope you are settling in well, Miss Brock.” He said and raised his eyebrows.

  “Very well thank you, Your Grace.” She said and bowed her head in greeting and thanks.

  “Has Mrs Arklow explained to you that I will be coming in with you to introduce you to Lucy this morning?”

  “Indeed, she has, Your Grace.”

  “Ordinarily, as you know, my sister would be addressed as Lady Lucy. But since you will be spending a good deal of time with her, I would prefer that you address her simply as Lucy. She is young, and she is very sensitive. I think it will be more comforting to her to be addressed less formally.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.”

  The Duke looked every bit as handsome as he had done the day before. He was wearing black breeches with a tail coat and waistcoat in a soothing shade of green. And now that he was standing before her without a desk parting them, she realised just what a large man he was. Very tall and muscular and thoroughly impressive. It would be a very easy thing for a man like that to crush a young woman like Anabelle.

  She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip to dispel the thought, trying to remember that it was likely only his way of putting his sister’s needs before anybody else’s.

  The Duke entered the room first, closely followed by Anabelle. Mrs Arklow kept back a little, as if she did not want to crowd the young woman.

  Lucy Saville stood by the large window looking out over the very same view that Anabelle herself had stared at early in the morning. Their rooms enjoyed the same orientation, being side-by-side.

  The Duke walked to stand at his sister’s side and immediately reached out to take her hand. Lucy turned to look up at him and smiled weakly.

  She was so small and truly only looked her sixteen years. So many young ladies could fix their hair and mode of dress to make themselves look a little older. But Anabelle thought that this could never be the case with Lucy Saville. Her face was so young and innocent that nobody could ever be deceived into thinking her a fully-grown woman.

  She really was so tiny compared to her brother and so much younger. But still Anabelle could see the similarities between brother and sister; that hair so dark and thick, the hazel eyes and natural attractiveness.

  Lucy was a beautiful young woman who could only be made more so by putting on a little weight. She was thin in the way that a person became through illness. Anabelle had the greatest impression that she was not always that way, it was not a natural state for her. She imagined her a little plumper, her face a little rounder, and felt very sad for the young life that was suffering so greatly.

  “I have brought Miss Brock with me, Lucy. Do you remember I spoke of her yesterday?” He spoke so tenderly that Anabelle was taken aback.

  His ordinarily deep and rather strident tones were nowhere in evidence as he spoke to his sister. Now his voice was rich and soothing, and Anabelle closed her eyes for a moment to get a little benefit of her own.

  “Yes.” Lucy’s voice was that of a woman rather than a child and Anabelle found herself taken aback once more. “Miss Brock.” She said, repeating his words as if she were in a dream or a trance.

  “But if you prefer it, her name is Anabelle.” The Duke said and turned briefly to look at Anabelle, his eyebrows raised as if to secure her permission.

  Anabelle nodded gently, and he turned back to his sister.

  “Anabelle has the chamber next door, the white room.” He went on, still holding his sister’s hand, still smiling at her.

  “It is always sunny in the garden. I do not like the sunshine. But I am supposed to like the sunshine, am I not? Everybody is supposed to like the sunshine.” Lucy said, speaking urgently, as if her words held the greatest importance.

  Anabelle felt the first twinge of disquiet. She had only ever known one person of mental infirmity in her life and she had never been in conversation with him. She was not afraid of Lucy, so small and so damaged, but rather afraid that she would not know what to say to her, how to converse with her when she said such things.

  Anabelle feared her own failure.

  “You must not worry, Lucy, the sunshine does not make the day what it is.” The Duke led his sister across the room and settled her down in one of two armchairs set around a small low table by the fireplace.

  Anabelle allowed herself a moment to look about the chamber and realised that it was not very much bigger than her own. It was not as imposingly opulent as the entrance hall or as impressively austere as the Duke’s study. Like her own chamber, it was a light and restful space.

  Again, the walls were covered with paper, this time a very pale ivory with a delica
te floral pattern to it. The long curtains and pelmets were a restful shade of pale green and were matched by the upholstery on the two armchairs.

  There were windows aplenty, full-length windows just as in her own room, and the light which poured in gave the space such a bright, crisp, and airy feel.

  In terms of furniture, Lady Lucy’s chamber was similarly appointed with four-poster bed, writing desk and chair, a table and chairs set in the far corner for meals, a dressing table, a wash stand.

  There was a wardrobe and a chest of drawers and two tall wooden tables, each containing vases of beautiful flowers, the last of the Summer blooms.

  The Duke stood at Lucy’s side, his hand on her shoulder as she sat in the armchair and stared bleakly ahead of her. Anabelle knew that she could no longer keep to her spot and it was time for her to gently make her approach to the disturbed young woman.

  With a gentle smile on her face and being careful not to stare too intently at Lady Lucy, she settled herself down in the armchair opposite. Now was not the time to wait to be offered the seat by the Duke. This young lady was Lucy, not Lady Lucy, and it was clear that such things would not matter to her.

  “It is nice to meet you, Lucy.” Anabelle said, mimicking the Duke’s voice in terms of soothing richness. “Do you like stories?”

  “Stories.” Lucy repeated the word vaguely.

  “I like stories, Lucy, and I like nothing better than to have somebody read them to me. I find it a very soothing and comfortable pastime.”

  “Stories. But it is a sunny day. The sunshine is here again.” Lucy said, and Anabelle could feel failure snapping at her heels.

  But what else could she do? If Lucy could not always state a preference, would it not be best for her to simply choose for her with kindness?

  “I see you have some books resting on the windowsill.” Anabelle said, seeing a small pile of untouched books and feeling grateful for the coincidence.

  Without another word, the Duke hastened across the room and picked up the first of the books. He turned to look at Anabelle, holding the book aloft.

  “Charles Lamb?” He said in quiet question. “The Essays of Elia.”