The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance

by Kate Carteret

  In the moments before she became disconcerted, Anabelle was so amused that she almost laughed.

  “Miss Brock, I presume?” Miss Newfield was forced to call out, for she had begun to speak when she was still several feet away and still marching.

  “I am Anabelle Brock, yes.” Anabelle said, turning slowly to face Miss Newfield square on.

  For all her seeming bluster, there was an element of foolishness when the young woman stood so close to Anabelle that she was forced to look up. There was so great a difference in their height that Anabelle began to feel that she was looking down upon a small and petulant child. But Miss Newfield was so angry that she seemed hardly to notice.

  “I am glad I have seen you today, for I have been meaning to have a word with you.” She spoke in such regal tones it was as if Anabelle was one of her own servants.

  “Indeed? And what is it I can help you with, Miss Newfield?” Anabelle said, emphasizing her name and the fact that the young woman had not properly introduced herself.

  “You can stop interfering, Miss Brock, that is what you can help me with.” She said in a hissed flurry of words.

  “Interfering, Miss Newfield? I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about.” Anabelle said truthfully.

  “I daresay you think yourself very clever.” Miss Newfield continued, her fury not only making her inarticulate, but making her perfect little nostrils flare unattractively.

  “Again, I have no idea what you are talking about. Perhaps if you would explain, Miss Newfield.”

  “Let me put it this way, my dear. Do not get too comfortable here at Westward Hall, for you will not be staying.”

  “You are terminating my employment, Miss Newfield?” Anabelle said with open incredulity, feeling so annoyed that she did not hold back in antagonizing the horrid little creature further.

  “No, of course not.” She said falteringly. “And it will not serve you well to vex me.”

  “I do not understand what it is you are so angry about and can only beseech you once again to explain it fully, Miss Newfield. There is nothing I can do about any of it unless I know what it is.”

  “You are interfering greatly with the Duke’s sister. She very likely needs to see a doctor and to be treated in the proper place and I believe that your interference is stopping that happening. It is not right, Miss Brock.”

  “I have no say at all in Lady Lucy’s treatment, believe me. I am her paid companion, not her physician.”

  “And yet you seem to wield a little power, do you not?” Miss Newfield glared at Anabelle so hatefully that a realization began to dawn upon her.

  This was not about Lucy. This was not about Miss Newfield wanting the very best for the Duke’s sister. This was about Miss Newfield wanting Anabelle out of the way. Even if that meant the Duke’s sister leaving Westward Hall to be treated elsewhere, making Anabelle’s position pointless.

  But Anabelle knew that she could not possibly accuse the young woman of it. It would not be politic, for she was certain that the Duke intended to marry Miss Newfield, even if he had not yet proposed. As much as Anabelle wanted to fight back, to tell the egregious young woman to take a step back from her and keep quiet, she knew it would not help.

  She could not have anything so negative being made known to the Duke, for despite her heartbreak, it still mattered to her what he thought of her. And for her to argue with the woman of his choosing would make her look so low, so petty and jealous.

  Anabelle Brock had held onto her dignity in the most trying of times, persons far more trying than the one she faced now; the one with the flaring nostrils and the flying ringlets. Anabelle Brock was better than this.

  “Miss Newfield, I do not truly think I wield any power at all, nor would I want to. I am simply a paid companion to Lady Lucy and that is all. I am sorry if I have offended you in some way, for it was never my intention. And I can promise you faithfully that I would never countermand any instruction given by Lady Lucy’s physician. I would never dream of assuming such a great responsibility. I do little more than read to her and take short walks with her. We converse and take tea. We are companions and that is it.” Anabelle said, although every fiber of her being seemed to scream at her, urging her to shove the horrid creature so hard that she would land on her backside on the grass.

  Of course, Anabelle would never do anything so rough and unladylike. Still, it was a rather satisfying thought.

  “I do not believe you. I think you have the greatest intention to make the Duke reliant upon you and I will not have it. Whatever it is you are doing, you must desist immediately. And if you do not, you will be sorry for it.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Anabelle said, trying hard to remain polite.

  “I might not be able to terminate your employment now, but one day, I assure you, I will be in such a position.”

  “I see.” Anabelle said and knew that to continue to argue with Miss Newfield was a pointless waste of breath.

  “You may only do the things commensurate with the duties of a companion. I believe the Duke thinks you have the power to cure Lady Lucy and he has put a great deal of faith in you. But I am certain that faith is misplaced, and I will not have you play upon his emotions a moment longer. I will be watching you very carefully, Miss Brock. Believe me, if I hear any more about your wondrous ways or have any suspicion that you are trying to maintain some sort of hold over the Duke, I will make your life a misery.” She drew herself up to her full height which was, in truth, very far from impressive. “When I am Duchess here, if you do not obey me now, I will see you thrown out without references. I do not care if you live and die in the gutter, my dear, you will not draw His Grace’s attention from me ever again.”

  And finally, Anabelle had the truth of it. Miss Newfield was afraid of her. For reasons of her own, the ridiculous woman truly felt Anabelle to be some manner of threat to her own future happiness.

  But the one thing she had said that Anabelle would never be able to forget was her confident assertion that she would one day be the Duchess of Westward. For a woman to be so openly confident surely, she had good reason.

  Anabelle felt strangely hot and nauseous and wished that Miss Newfield would turn on her heel and march back up to her carriage.

  “I have no such holdover the Duke and I would not seek to. I believe this conversation is at an end, Miss Newfield.” Anabelle said firmly, glaring down at Miss Newfield with some determination.

  “Very well. But you will not speak of this encounter to anybody, certainly not the Duke. If you do, you may rely on my making good on my promise. I will see you cast out without a reference, believe me. You will toe the mark now, Miss Brock. Your days of ease at Westward Hall are coming to an end and when I am here you shall behave like a servant. For that, my dear, is exactly what you are, however many airs you might give yourself.” And with that, Miss Newfield finally turned and marched away.

  Anabelle stared after her and felt utterly dumbfounded.

  She could not begin to imagine why the young woman thought as she did and hated her so, for they had never been a moment in one another’s company before that day.

  As unjust as it all was, however, Anabelle knew that she would not be able to speak to of it. She could never take such an accusation to the Duke, especially not if he loved Miss Newfield. Nothing would see her turned out faster than abusing Miss Newfield to the man who loved her.

  But when the pair were finally married, how on earth was Anabelle to remain there nursing a broken heart and fearing her every step?

  If her mood had been low before, it had plumbed the depths now.

  With the heaviest of hearts, Anabelle turned and slowly began to walk back towards the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “This is nice, Mrs Arklow. We have not had a quiet afternoon tea for a long time.” Anabelle said as the housekeeper ushered her into her own chamber whilst Miriam entertained Lucy with stories from below stairs.

  “We have
not really been able to talk for a while, have we?” Mrs Arklow said the moment they were alone.

  “No. And I have missed our conversations, even though I see you every day.” Anabelle admitted as she sat down at the table.

  “Something has been troubling you, Miss Brock. I know you are about to tell me that you are perfectly all right, but I can see it in your eyes. There is nothing you cannot say to me. And there is nothing you say to me that I would ever repeat to another, not even His Grace.”

  “I know.” Anabelle said and felt the temptation to unburden her soul very strongly. “I must admit, I had an encounter yesterday afternoon which has unsettled me greatly.”

  “Indeed?”

  “But I was warned that if I spoke to His Grace about it, I would lose my position here and without references.”

  “Only the Duke could effect that, and I know he would not.” Mrs Arklow looked savagely angry. “So, what did Miss Constance Newfield have to say for herself?”

  “Goodness, how did you know it was Miss Newfield?” Anabelle was impressed.

  “An educated guess.” The housekeeper’s anger soothed into pale amusement. “So, what did she say?”

  “She accused me of trying to wield some sort of power over His Grace. By trying to help Lucy in my own way, Miss Newfield declares that I am simply trying to have him believe in me and therefore have him come to depend on me.” Anabelle was whispering as if Constance Newfield herself was levitating outside with her ear on the window.

  “I am not at all surprised. She is a vain and jealous little thing. Really, if I never see those pale ringlets fly through the air again, it will still be too soon.” Mrs Arklow sniffed and thrust out her chin in disdain.

  “Oh, Mrs Arklow!” Anabelle was truly amused and grateful for it; after another night of cares and disturbed sleep, the housekeeper was like a breath of fresh air.

  “Well, she is most unpleasant. I can see why His Grace has chosen her.”

  “Because she is unpleasant?” Anabelle said quizzically. “That does not make sense, Mrs Arklow.”

  “It does to Giles Saville.” She said, surprising Anabelle not only by using his name, but for the extraordinary look of sadness which clouded her eyes.

  “But why?” Anabelle decided now was not the time to be coy and hold back.

  “Because he is afraid to marry a woman he truly loves. And since he does not even like Miss Newfield, never mind love her, he thinks himself safe from pain.”

  “What pain?” Anabelle said. “Surely to live without love is the very definition of pain.”

  “Ah, we ladies sing from the same hymn book.” Mrs Arklow chuckled although her sadness was still evident. “But His Grace does not.”

  “I still do not understand.”

  “He cannot bear another loss. His life has been so marred with it that he has avoided any idea of finding a woman he will love ever since little Jenny died. It was the end of things for him, you see. He had lost everybody he’d loved so prematurely, except for Lucy. That is why he is so vehement in his protection of her.”

  “Oh, that is so sad. So horribly sad. And I understand it for there is a certain logic to such thinking. But a life which has seen so much tragedy does not deserve to be lived without love.” Anabelle felt a little better to know that the Duke did not love the spiteful little porcelain doll.

  But if what Mrs Arklow said was true, he would marry her regardless and Anabelle would still be in the unenviable position of a lifetime of longing for a man she could not have.

  “Do not give up on him yet, Miss Brock.” Mrs Arklow said in a low voice.

  “It is not for me to give up on him or otherwise.” Anabelle said a little too defensively.

  “Oh, but it is.” Mrs Arklow chuckled. “Who else but the woman he really loves?”

  “Mrs Arklow, really!” Anabelle felt her cheeks burning.

  “Things have changed since you came here.” Mrs Arklow was undaunted. “There is some hope of Lucy returning to us. His Grace has been happier than I have seen him for many years, even if he finds ways to make his own life unbearable at times, and I have a fine new friend, one I feel I have known forever. I have a good feeling about you, Miss Brock.”

  “But the Duke does not… I mean… and, of course, I would never presume to…..” Anabelle was stuck for words and Mrs Arklow could not have been more amused.

  “I will not embarrass you any further, for it was truly never my aim.” She was still chuckling under her breath. “You have looked low for days and I can only assume it is because His Grace told you that he was going to tell the truth of Lucy’s condition to Miss Newfield.”

  “Well, yes, I did think it a little risky.”

  “And you perceived, as I did, that the giving of such a confidence to a young woman outside the family could only mean that a proposal of marriage was in the wind.”

  “I suppose it would be foolish of me to deny such a perception.” Anabelle said and felt resigned; there was no hiding the truth of one’s heart from a woman like Mrs Arklow.

  “But he has not proposed yet.”

  “No, he has not.”

  “So, as I said before, do not give up on him just yet.”

  “Mrs Arklow,” Anabelle began in a whisper, knowing that if she finished her sentence, she would be tacitly admitting her feelings for the Duke. “If His Grace is so intent to marry without love, perhaps it would be better for me to give up on him. If he has avoided such love for his entire life, I cannot see that he will change now.”

  “You are missing one vital element.”

  “Which is?”

  “His Grace has managed to avoid love because it has never come to him before. It is easy to declare you will never eat cake if you have never tasted it. There is nothing to miss, you see, and so the sacrifice is a very easy one to make. But once you have tasted the richest cake, all butter and sugar and bursting with flavor, to deny yourself cake for the rest for your life is not such an easy promise to keep. And His Grace has just had his first true taste of cake. He is struggling with his sacrifice now more than ever before.”

  “Do you really think so?” Anabelle said, feeling her heart leap with joy at the very idea that the Duke might feel for her what she felt for him; if only a half of it.

  “I know it, Miss Brock. I would never tell you such things unless I was certain. I care for you too much to be so flippant.”

  “I am very glad we had this time to talk.”

  “And so am I.” Mrs Arklow poured the cooling tea. “I cannot predict the future or promise His Grace’s choices in the end. But I know how he feels about you, I can see it in him. He is like glass to me and his soul is there on display to my eyes.”

  “Thank you for your honesty.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Anabelle felt altogether lighter for the rest of the day. She read to Lucy with gusto, even putting on voices for her characters, much to her charge’s delight.

  It was as if a cloud had been lifted from her, and even though it had not been lifted entirely, still she felt happier.

  Anabelle even had herself convinced that it would be enough to simply know that he loved her. If she never had another thing in the world, she would be content. After all, this was already so much more than she had yesterday and the day before that. Those were darker times, painful moments of thinking the Duke did not care for her at all.

  Surely this was better? Was it not?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following day, Anabelle’s dizzying euphoria had died down a little. After sleeping well for the first time in days, she certainly felt physically better. But she was also a little better grounded and the idea that she could spend her life in a cloud of unrequited love was not quite so appealing to her as it had been the day before.

  But still she was glad that Mrs Arklow had told her the truth of everything. It gave her a little hope, however tiny that hope was, and she was grateful for it.

  “You seem a little be
tter today, Anabelle.” Lucy said, eyeing her curiously.

  “I think I am supposed to be taking care of your welfare Lucy, not the other way around.” Anabelle laughed. “But it is very nice of you to be so caring.”

  “You have been sad.” Lucy said innocently.

  “I suppose I have been a little sad, but it will do me no good to keep myself feeling so.”

  “But that supposes that we have a choice, Anabelle. We do not choose to feel sad, we are just sad. We do not choose to be happy, even if that would make life so much simpler. We are either happier or we are not.”

  “You are very wise for your years, Lucy.”

  “I am only wise sometimes, Anabelle.” Lucy laughed. “You do not have to read to me today. You must get tired of it at times.”

  “I do not tire of it at all, Lucy. I am simply glad that you enjoy it.”

  “It takes my mind away from the things which torment me.”

  “You mean the man?” Anabelle said cautiously and wondered if this might be a good time to resume their attempts to recover Lucy’s memories.

  “Not only the man. I suppose it is more than that.” Lucy said slowly. “When I concentrate on a story, it relieves me of my torment for a while. It relieves me of the confusion of not knowing and the fear of going in search of an answer. It is as if I stop fighting with myself for a while and am allowed some peace.”

  “Have you been as plagued by the man as you once were?”

  “He is still there, Anabelle, and probably as much as ever he was. I suppose the difference is that I am not quite as afraid now. No, that is not quite right.” Lucy said and shook her head vigorously, remaining silent for some moments. “I am still as afraid of him as ever I was. But I have a better understanding now. I see that he is not just a phantom, even if he is not a man. Whoever he is, whatever he is, I think he represents that moment, that memory. It is as if the memories which are hiding have been given a face and it is his.”

  “Goodness, that makes a good deal of sense.” Anabelle said, wholeheartedly impressed that a young woman of just sixteen who had been withdrawn for years and in torment for months, could hit upon something so profound.