The Duke's Rose: A Clean Historical Regency Romance (Tales of Bath)

by Kira Stewart

  “I had thought a quiet wedding would be best, but if that is what she wants … What do you think, Annabelle?”

  The young girl was still in a daze. Everything was happening so fast. She did not want a fuss-making, and looked first at Sir Henry, and then at her aunt and cousins. Their faces looked back expectantly. They wanted something from her.

  “I am quite content with a quiet wedding, Sir Henry.”

  “The girl does not know her mind, Sir. Let me have a moment alone with her. Weddings are a woman’s business.”

  There could be little harm in allowing the woman a few words with her niece, since she was powerless and knew it. Perkins led the two women into the Drawing Room, closing the door behind them.

  As soon as they were alone, Mrs. Roebuck’s demeanor changed.

  “What a sly girl you have been, Annie. Who would have thought that you would have been the choice of Sir Henry? I hate to guess how you managed that. It is highly irregular, you being so young, and here I am, left with two unmarried daughters, both older than you are. Still, I can overlook that. But this business about being married within the week, it is nonsense. Do you not realise that you have Sir Henry wrapped around your finger? You only have to say the word. Just think of the fine dress you could have made, the flowers, and the jewels, not to mention your poor aunt and your cousins. Think of them, Annie, think of the introductions that might be made at a grand wedding feast?”

  Annabelle looked thoughtful. She had never been afraid of her aunt, but she had always been respectful. Now, she felt emboldened.

  “No aunt. I do not want those things. I think that you want them for yourself and my cousins, but not for me. I am content with Sir Henry’s suggestion that we are married as soon as possible.”

  The woman twitched, hardly believing her ears.

  “Why you ungrateful girl, after everything I have done for you! Your uncle would turn in his grave, if he could hear you now.”

  “I admit that my uncle was very kind to me indeed. But I cannot say the same for you, aunt. You have never shown me any kindness or love over the last ten years. You have treated the dogs better than I.”

  Her aunt and the girls left immediately. There was nothing left to say.

  12.

  It was almost six months to the day, since she had stood by the grave of her uncle. Now, she stood inside the almost empty church, the day as cold and bleak as when her uncle was buried. It was her wedding day, and although she had initially felt grateful to Sir Henry, she now fretted that she was indeed doing the right thing. They had tiptoed around each other all week. After his initial boldness, he too, had wondered if he had monopolized the girl, thrown her into marriage with his sudden proposal. There had been little alternative for the poor girl, and now she would be married to a man who couldn’t even be a proper husband to her. He felt guilty, and the guilt fell heavy upon his heart.

  They stood together nervously at the front of the church, the only witnesses were Perkins, Jenny and Mrs. Shaw. The vicar’s voice echoed into the fine Tudor timber rafters.

  “In the presence of God, and before this congregation,

  Sir Henry Thomas Trevelyan Faversham and Annabelle Bradshaw have given their consent

  and made their marriage vows to each other.

  They have declared their marriage by the joining of hands

  and by the giving and receiving of rings.

  I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife.”

  And suddenly, she was married.

  The ride home in the carriage was a quiet affair. Sir Henry seemed to brood and looked out of the window for the short journey home. He had a young bride of eighteen years, and suddenly felt foolish. What would his friends think? For her part, Annabelle too, wondered if she had done the right thing. Where she should have felt joy and happiness, she felt sadness. She could never love Sir Henry, and now she would never know real love. They had not even kissed, and were not likely to.

  Mrs. Shaw had cooked a delicious lunch for them to enjoy on their return, and she, Jenny and Perkins, were invited to join. The newlyweds were grateful not to be left alone, both feeling self-conscious in their newly altered state.

  There was the delicate matter of the sleeping arrangements. Mrs. Shaw had not known what had been planned, and as the wine flowed, it emboldened her to ask.

  “Shall I be asking young Jenny to take the young mistress’s things down to you room this afternoon, Sir Henry?”

  Already on his fourth cup of wine, he was in no mood to mince his words.

  “What use is there in the girl coming to my room? There is nothing for her there. Annabelle will be staying in her own room, until we return from London. During that time, I am having my late wife’s room decorated. It is the prettiest bedroom in the house with the finest view of the gardens. That should be sufficient for any girl. What do you say, Annabelle?”

  The man was not cruel, but he was drunk, and there was sarcasm in his voice that the girl had not heard before. As soon as he said the words, he immediately regretted them. The poor girl looked pale and it was not her fault. He had brought it all on himself.

  “Excuse me, ladies. Perkins, I am in need of a sleep. It has been a long day already. Take me to my room.”

  And so the girl was left alone on the afternoon of her wedding day. However, Mrs. Shaw and Jenny fussed around the girl.

  “The master is drunk, dear. Take no heed. He has been too long on his own here and I think he is a little afraid. But do not let him catch me saying that. He is a kind man and you will be very happy here. It will just take a little getting used to, that is all.”

  In her nativity, Annabelle had not fully understood the situation, until now. It hit home with full realization. She would never lay with him, not in the way a married man and woman should. In a way, it was a relief, but suddenly, she felt lonely, much lonelier than she had ever felt before and she didn’t know why.

  Young Jenny heard her mistress sobbing in her room and gently knocked on the door.

  “What’s wrong, Miss?”

  Although their status was now much altered, the two remained good friends, and Annabelle poured out her heart to the young girl. There was no one else to turn to.

  The young maid was wise beyond her years.

  “There, there, Miss. Everything will be all right. A lot of young women cry on their wedding night. I know my sister cried for nearly a month, after she was married.”

  Annabelle tried to smile.

  “But it is not like a normal marriage, Jenny. And as much as I respect Sir Henry, I do not love him.”

  The young maid knew exactly what she meant.

  “But it is not so bad, Miss. You must count your blessings. Many a girl would swap to be in your place. I have worked here for more than two years now, and Sir Henry has shown me nothing but kindness. It might not be love, Miss, like in the novels, but you will want for nothing. Friends is sometimes better than anything else, Miss. And who knows, over time, you might come to love him.”

  Annabelle wiped her eyes. The young girl was quite right. She should be grateful to Sir Henry for saving her, and suddenly she felt guilty for sounding so ungrateful.

  “It will be all right, Miss. I promise.”

  •••

  Sir Henry enjoyed showing Annabelle around London. She had rarely travelled and it was a joy. He looked upon the old city with new eyes, and felt like a young man again. Perkins was on hand to look after Sir Henry, and they enjoyed everything, from the theatres in Drury Lane, to strolls around the great parks. The days were fine, and whilst they were fully occupied, the initial awkwardness of their wedding day disappeared. It was only during the evenings, when not otherwise distracted that they would find themselves alone, and once again, the uncertainty of both would come between them.

  13.

  When they arrived back at Wellington Manor, there was a surprise waiting for Sir Henry.

  Sir Henry’s cousin, the Duke of Marlborough’s eldes
t son had arrived, the Marques of Marlborough, Edward Lennox. Aged just twenty-five years, Edward already had a reputation for being quite reckless. His love of gambling and drinking were well known across the counties, and not for the first time, had he upset his father and been left for a period of time without money, or a home. As a last resort, he had come looking for shelter and sympathy in the form of his first cousin, Sir Henry.

  The young man, when hearing of the marriage, had immediately hastened to Wallington Manor, thinking that he would find his cousin in a good mood. On finding the newly married couple were away in London, he had stayed a few nights in the local village inn, drinking large quantities of ale and running up a bill he could not pay, using his cousin’s name for security.

  Mrs. Shaw, not knowing what to do for the best, had shown the young man into the Drawing Room. And there they found him, a dark haired, unshaven and ruffled form, fast asleep across the chaise lounge.

  Instructing to be wheeled immediately to the sleeper’s side, Sir Henry leaned close, and shouted directly into the young man’s ear.

  “Will you get up, Sir?”

  Startled, the young man jumped immediately to his feet, hardly knowing who he was, or where he was.

  “Good God man, are you drunk?”

  Sir Henry was well aware of his cousin’s failings, and the stale smell of beer on his breath was an immediate give away.

  Up to now, Annabelle had been stood in the doorway, watching the scene. The first thing she noticed about the young man was the mop of unruly dark hair that flopped easily across his eyes, so that he had to keep pushing it back across his forehead. He scowled, the dark eyebrows rising and falling with each change of expression, as he tried to fathom the situation.

  His eyes were red rimmed with sleep and too many late-night drinking sessions, and yet their intensity blazed against the shadowy afternoon, bright and alive.

  He was not unattractive, and Annabelle noticed her heart thudding more quickly in her breast.

  The young man looked from his cousin, to the girl, and back again, scratching his head.

  “Henry. You have returned. And this … this is your wife?”

  It was a question, not a statement, and Edward Lennox looked surprised, much to the annoyance of Sir Henry, who did not care much for the young man’s tone.

  “This is Annabelle, my wife. Yes. Now, Sir, what do you want here?”

  The young man smiled and gave a low and rather precarious bow to the girl, as he eyed her up and down.

  “You have a good eye, cousin, I give you that.”

  She could feel her face blush a little and looked away, so her husband could not see her.

  “What do you want, man?”

  Henry could feel his anger start to rise, but did not want to be riled by the young man.

  “My father has threatened to cut me off, and has thrown me out onto the streets. I am at the mercy of your charity, dear cousin.” Edward Lennox gave a mocking laugh and sank back again onto the chaise lounge.

  “And what do you expect me to do about it? It has all been self-inflicted as usual, I suppose?”

  Hanging his head in mock sorrow, the young man attempted a look of shame, but in his drunken state, started giggling.

  “You find the situation amusing?”

  Trying hard to hide his mirth, Edward pulled a long face and looked at his cousin with wide eyes.

  “I am looking for shelter, cousin. I am in need of a place to rest for a week or two, whilst this problem with my father blows over. You know what he is like. He cannot be mad with me for very long. He will have forgiven me within a few weeks. What do you say?”

  Sir Henry remained silent and Edward Lennox swivelled his head toward Annabelle.

  “Dear cousin. May I call you cousin? What do you say? You see how cold my cousin Henry is toward me. Can you not warm his heart and persuade him to let me stay? I will be of no trouble to you. In fact, you will barely see or hear a peep out of me. I can stay in the Gatehouse. I have lived there before, for a short spell. It will serve me well. What say you? Or would you rather see me sleeping out on the streets like a vagabond?”

  Annabelle looked first to her husband and then to the young man.

  “Your cousin is most kind, Sir, and I do not think he would like to see you sleeping out on the streets. I’m sure he will treat his own blood with kindness. Is that not right, Henry dear?”

  The girl looked so young and naive that Henry suddenly had an overwhelming feeling of love for her. She did not have an unkind bone in her body.

  “You have found a champion in my wife, cousin Edward. You are most fortunate indeed. If it had been left to me, I would have thrown you to the wolves, but I am old and gnarled, and she is young and kind. You may stay for a couple of weeks in the Gatehouse. Mind how you go, sir. I do not want you fouling our air. And if I hear any untoward stories of you from the village, you will be immediately out on your ear, Sir. Do you hear?”

  The young man had fallen back to sleep.

  14.

  The next few days were spent quietly. Sir Henry and Annabelle slipped into a gentle routine of companionship, and although neither fully satisfied, they each accepted the situation. Whilst he was content with the company she afforded him, she was content with his guardianship.

  One bright morning, just after breakfast, Annabelle took a stroll into the garden. She had not had much opportunity to explore the grounds, and she wanted to speak to the gardener, Tom, to see if she could supervise some changes to the small kitchen garden, situated at the back of the house.

  She walked along the pathways looking for him, stopping to admire parts of the garden she had not seen before. Pausing by the rose arbour, she heard a soft singing voice in the distance. She doubted that it was old Tom, for it sounded so sweet and mellow. Following the sound, she came to a high stone wall, and the singing was coming from behind it. A trail of smoke curled up above the grey stonework.

  Walking along the wall, she looked for a way inside, walking all around, until she found a wooden door bolted into the stonework.

  Pulling down on the iron handle, she slowly opened the door.

  Inside was a walled garden, or the remains of what used to be one. Mother Nature had overtaken any of man’s attempts to tame her, and the place looked as if it had been untouched for years. The old rambling rose bushes spread their arms along the ground, trailing and falling over any obstacle they met. Old gnarled trees stood naked against the sky, a bird or two perched in their branches. A cast iron sun dial peeped from beneath the nettles, the ivy curling around the base and covering the dial, halting time with its leafy green fingers.

  Leaning against a weathered moss-veined statue of Eros, was a figure wearing a battered straw hat. She had found the owner of the singing, and now that she was close, she could make out the words, or at least those which the singer knew, for in the main, he was humming the melody.

  She recognized it as a familiar song, “Why Drown it in the Bowl.”

  “The glossy sparkle on the board,

  The wine is ruby bright,

  The reign of pleasure is restor’d,

  Of ease and fond delight.

  The day is gone, the night’s our own,

  Then let us feast the soul;

  If any care or pain remain,

  Why Drown it in the bowl.

  This world they say’s a world of woe,

  That I do deny;

  Can sorrow from the goblet flow?

  Or pain from beauty’s eye?

  The wise are fools, with all their rules,

  When they would joys controul:

  If life’s a pain, I say again,

  Let’s Drown it in the bowl.

  That time flies fast the poets sing;

  Then surely it is wise,

  In rosy wine to dip his wings,

  And seize him as he flies.

  This night is ours; then strew with flowers

  The moments as they roll:

&nb
sp; If any pain or care remain,

  Why Drown it in the bowl.”

  Annabelle stood quietly, listening to the man sing. She had thought that she would quietly move away to avoid any awkwardness, but before she had chance, the young man turned to see her watching him.

  It was Edward Lennox.

  At first, he looked a little startled at not being as quite alone as he first thought, but then his face opened into a wide grin.

  “Dearest cousin, what a surprise! I have tried all week to keep out of your way, and now you find me in my lair. I think I shall have no sanctuary here.”

  Annabelle could feel herself blushing as much as the first time they had met

  “I beg your pardon, Sir. I did not mean to interrupt.”

  She made to leave.

  “Fair cousin, I jest with you. Forgive me. You are a welcome sight.”

  He held out his hand to hers.

  “Come, let us be friends. I am afraid that I was much the worse for wear, last time we met. I am not a good fellow, you see. But then again, I do not think that I am the worst, although, I am sure most people might disagree. Let us just say that I am misunderstood.”

  His grip was firm, but friendly, as they shook hands.

  “Well, cousin. How are you finding Wallington Manor, and my cousin, Sir Henry? How came you to marry him?”

  His questions were bold and she blushed once again under his gaze.

  “I apologize, dear cousin. I am perhaps too forward with my questions. Perhaps you would rather that I speak of the weather?”

  She could tell he was teasing her.

  “Your cousin, Henry, has been very kind to me.”

  The young man frowned.

  “Kind, is that the reason for marriage, these days? He must be very kind indeed, you being so very young, and he an old cripple.”

  Annabelle turned to leave.

  “Cousin, do not go. I apologize. You see how bad I am. There is no hope for me, I am afraid. Please, forgive me?”

  There was a simple honesty in his voice that she had not heard before. His face looked serious and he looked truly sorry.