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

by Kira Stewart

  Sir Henry’s cold had turned to bronchitis and he was advised to stay in bed for the rest of the week. It gave the girl the excuse she needed to stay indoors and as a matter of courtesy, the girl sent word to Edward, via Jenny, to say that she would not be able to join him in the garden, as she was looking after Sir Henry.

  The young man understood.

  •••

  After a further week of fine weather, the rains came, bringing dark skies with heavy showers that drenched the earth. One afternoon, whilst Sir Henry slept, Annabelle stood by the window and watched, as the drops of rain fell sadly down the window pane, as if nature knew her own heart. She had tried her best not to think of him. It was over a week since she had last seen him, and yet, her heart betrayed her head, and every night, she would dream of him, and awaken each morning with an even greater longing.

  Outside in the rain, she could see Jenny running up the path, soaked to the skin.

  Annabelle met her at the door.

  “Jenny, what on earth are you doing outside in weather like this?”

  The water dripped from the young girl’s hair and formed puddles on the old oak floor.

  “I was taking Sir Edward his lunch. Mrs. Shaw sent me out, not wanting to get wet herself.”

  “To the Gatehouse?”

  “No, Miss, to the walled garden. He has been working there all morning like a crazy man. I do not know how. The poor man is soaked to the skin and has a terrible cough. He will end up like Sir Henry if he isn’t careful.”

  It was madness. She must stop him.

  Checking that Sir Henry was still sleeping, Annabelle pulled on her sturdy leather boots and cape, and taking Sir Henry’s large umbrella for protection, rushed out into the elements.

  Not only was it wet, but it was cold. Annabelle ran down the path and across the grounds to the walled garden.

  If he felt the cold and rain, it was not apparent. Edward Lennox hummed a pretty tune, as he finished off tying up a winter rose, the pale pink flowers adding a touch of color to the garden.

  He wore a hat that did nothing to protect him from the rain, and he was soaked to his skin.

  As soon as he saw her, his happy demeanor turned to one of concern.

  “Good God, Annie, what on earth are you doing out here? You will catch your death.”

  “I was thinking the same of you, Sir.”

  “This is madness, now go back to the house, this instance.”

  The girl stood firm.

  “Only if you go indoors.”

  “But …”

  The young man started coughing and could not finish his words.

  “You see. You have already caught a cold, cousin.”

  The girl was getting wetter and the young man looked perplexed.

  “I will go inside, only if you will come with me.”

  Annabelle looked unsure.

  “You can share my lunch. Look it is untouched, and I can tell you of my plans for the garden. What do you say?”

  The girl agreed, if only to get the young man indoors.

  “I can only stay for half an hour and then I must return back to Sir Henry.”

  Nodding his head in agreement, the young man smiled, and reaching up, he cut a spray of winter roses and handed them to her.

  “For you, my lady. Now let us go, before you catch your death.”

  18.

  The Gatehouse was untidy, yet cozy. Edward lit a fire and soon it was roaring in the grate, bringing a warm glow to the room. Although the main room was much smaller than even the Drawing Room at the Manor, Annabelle much preferred it. Whilst Edward changed his clothes in the bedroom, she set about clearing the table and setting out the lunch. The old copper kettle was already full of water and she set it to boil by the fire. She had missed these little acts of domesticity, and it pleased her to play housekeeper for her cousin.

  When he finally emerged, the place looked a picture. She had put the winter roses in a vase and placed it on the table in front of the fire.

  “The place has never looked better, cousin. Now, let us eat.”

  He talked animatedly about the garden and his plans for over the next weeks and months. She watched him, only half listening. Part of her was thinking how handsome he looked, his wet hair unruly and curling as it dried, the glow of the fire reflecting the angles of his chiseled face.

  Part of her was also thinking how easy this was, this gentle picture of domesticity, this simple happiness.

  “What do you think of that, cousin?”

  She had not heard the question.

  “Aha, I have caught you out. I think that I am boring you and you are far away. What are you thinking?”

  The girl blushed deeply.

  “I will change the subject. I hear you are interested in poetry?”

  He had been quizzing Jenny about his cousin’s interests.

  “I have a new pamphlet of poetry by Lord Byron, George Gordon, do you know him? I have it here somewhere.”

  Rooting through a pile of papers, he eventually unearthed the said book.

  “In fact, there is a poem in here that I should very much like you to hear.”

  Opening the book, he found the page, and before starting to read, he looked up at the girl.

  She looked beautiful bathed in the fires glow.

  He started reading in a gentle voice.

  “She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

  And all that’s best of dark and bright

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

  Thus mellowed to that tender light

  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

  One shade the more, one ray the less,

  Had half impaired the nameless grace

  Which waves in every raven tress,

  Or softly lightens o’er her face;

  Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

  How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

  And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

  So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

  The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

  But tell of days in goodness spent,

  A mind at peace with all below,

  A heart whose love is innocent!”

  As he read the last verse, his voice cracked, as if it pained him to read on. When he finished, he looked longingly at her.

  “Dear cousin. You must forgive me. There is so much I would like to say to you, but I cannot. I can only speak in another man’s voice, to tell you of my true heart. You are my cousin’s wife. I am sorry, I have tried to deny these feelings for many weeks, but today, seeing you again, I have to speak my heart. Forgive me, cousin, but I think that you care for me a little, too?”

  The girl’s eyes had already filled with tears, and before she knew what was happening, he had kissed her gently on the lips.

  “If only I could take you away from here. I have friends in Bath. We could go there.”

  His statement was really a question to her, and he looked at her hopefully.

  “You must not speak so, Edward. I am married to your cousin.”

  The young man shook his head.

  “I know you are grateful to Sir Henry, but your young life is wasted here with him. You could easily come away with me, and say you are staying with friends.”

  Her heart felt as though it would break, and a lone tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Sir, you must not speak so. We must not, even if we both have the same feelings. It can come to nothing. Sir Henry has shown me nothing but kindness, and I must honor him all of my life. I can do nothing more. I am bound to a Sir Henry, through both God and duty. I am sorry.”

  She stood to leave.

  “Do not go. I am sorry, cousin. I should never have spoken as I did. I cannot deny my feelings, and I am content to know that you feel the same. Come, let s part as good friends, and we will carry on as before, and not let this come between us. I am happy here for once in my life, and there
is much to do and plan on the garden. Do not look unhappy. We will be the best of friends if we can be nothing more. Let us shake on it.”

  Shaking his hand, she wondered if either of them could ever be the same again.

  “And now, I must be away. I have been absent from Sir Henry for too long.”

  As she gathered her things to leave, Edward quickly cut one of the winter roses from its stem in the jar, and opening the small pamphlet of poetry, placed the rose between the pages of the poem, before handing it to her.

  “This is my promise, that I shall never talk again as I did today, but here is a reminder, so you will never forget.”

  19.

  She had been longer than anticipated, and when she returned, Henry was sat up in bed, reading the newspaper that Perkins had brought to him. With her face red from running up the path and her hair damp, she had to think of a reason why she had been outside and away for so long.

  Before he could ask, she started to make an excuse for herself.

  “Oh I am so sorry, Henry. I walked home with Jenny. It is her afternoon off and I promised that I would visit her and her mother. I had quite forgotten. They would insist that I take tea with them, and then I waited for the rain to subside a little.”

  It was the first time that she had told a lie to Sir Henry, and she felt her cheeks start burn.

  His gaze was serious, as he looked at her over the rim of his spectacles.

  “Why did you not ask Perkins to drive you in the carriage? You know it is at your disposal.”

  •••

  Annabelle felt unsettled for the rest of the day. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips upon hers. Although they had only touched briefly, she could still feel the soft impression—a bird’s wing, soft upon the air. How could things ever be the same again? How could she see him and not long for him? It would not be fair to Sir Henry, who had been so very kind.

  Henry had felt a little better that evening and had decided to rise, dress and eat with her in the Dining Room.

  He was very quiet over dinner, and neither of them spoke, both lost in their own worlds. She reasoned that he was still tired from his illness and only the crackle of the fire in the grate broke the silence.

  Only once did he interrupt her thoughts.

  “How is the garden coming along, my dear? Is our dear cousin still working as hard? Have you seen him lately?”

  There were two choices in front of her—tell the truth, or at least part of the truth that she had seen Edward, or tell another lie. As happens many times, one small white lie leads to another. She had already told the tale of visiting Jenny, so she could hardly say she had also been to the garden and seen Edward. It was easier to lie, and would hopefully spare her more questions.

  “I have not seen the garden or Edward all week. I expect he is still working there though. Only this morning, I saw Jenny take some food down for him, and she told me she has been doing that all week.”

  The old man looked grave and suddenly, he put his head into his hands.

  “What is it, Henry? Are you feeling ill? Should I call for a Perkins?”

  His face looked grey.

  “I think I should have stayed in bed. I do not think I am strong enough yet to be up. Forgive me. I will ring for Perkins.”

  Annabelle finished the meal alone, although she wasn’t very hungry and ate very little. She retired early to her room, stopping by Sir Henry’s door. There was no sound from within, and not wanting to disturb his rest, she went straight to her room without saying goodnight.

  Annabelle did not sleep easily. Although concerned about Sir Henry, another man filled her thoughts, and she could not get him out of her mind. When she finally slept, she dreamt that she was standing at the top of a tall cliff, and both Sir Henry and Edward Lennox were hanging on to the edge for sheer life. She had it within her gift to save one man. Who would it be?

  A noise woke her with a start and she sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake.

  The moon was full and cast an eerie glow over her room. For a while, she was still back in her dream, wondering whom to save, both men pleading to her with their eyes.

  A noise downstairs brought her back to the present.

  It was voices, loud, yet muffled voices, coming from the entrance hall and also outside.

  Her first thoughts were for Sir Henry. He must be ill. Perhaps the doctor had been sent for?

  Slipping on her dressing gown, she hurried from her room and stood at the top of the wide staircase listening.

  It was Sir Henry’s voice and he was shouting orders at Perkins to fetch the carriage.

  She hurried down the stairs to where her husband was waiting.

  “Whatever is the matter, Henry? Are you feeling unwell?”

  The man did not look ill, more agitated.

  “You will catch your death of cold, Annie. Now, please go back to bed.”

  “I’ve found out where the duel is taking place, Sir.”

  Perkins entered quickly, and as soon as he saw the girl, he stopped speaking. But it was too late.

  “What duel? What’s going on, Henry?”

  It was no use hiding the truth.

  “Edward has got himself into trouble in the village. Word has reached me that he went drinking and got into a fight. He has been challenged to a drunken duel, and the stupid fool has accepted. In his state, he will surely be killed.”

  The girl was shocked and she felt numb.

  “But why? I do not understand. He seemed so happy. Why did he do this?”

  “Our cousin is a law unto himself, and when the red mist descends, he turns into a wild man. I fear he may have gone too far this time. The man must have a death wish! I just hope I am quick enough to stop this nonsense. Now, do go back to bed, girl.”

  Annabelle stood her ground.

  “I am coming with you.”

  Sir Henry did not argue. There was something in his manner that seemed almost defeatist.

  20.

  She quickly dressed, and soon, they were setting off in the carriage, Perkins urging on the horses as fast as they could.

  It was nearing dawn when they approached the spot, an open space between lines of trees, well hidden and ideal for the task in hand.

  The coach and horses were stopped at a short distance away from the scene, and Perkins and Sir Henry made their way to the spot, where several men had already congregated. Annabelle was left behind to watch from the carriage. It was no place for a woman, and besides, it was dangerous.

  The two men had already arrived and had removed their jackets. Much to the consternation of Sir Henry, pistols and not swords, were to be used. The man tried in vain to stop the proceedings, but the injured party, a young arrogant Lord visiting the county and renowned for dueling, would not accept anything, but first blood for satisfaction. Edward Lennox had readily accepted the challenge and would not back down. It was unclear what the original injury to the Lord had been, but it made no odds. Here they were, and ready to fight.

  Edward had chosen a drinking companion from the inn as his second, who was now looking over the weapons.

  Annabelle watched, as her husband tried to plead with his cousin, but the man turned away.

  Sir Henry and Perkins returned to the carriage.

  “It is no use, Annabelle. I cannot persuade our cousin to back down. They are using pistols and will be dueling to first blood. I just hope that with the state both men are in that they miss. Still, three attempts are usual to satisfy honor. Let’s hope for a flesh wound in the first round, and that will be the end of it.”

  Unable to stand it any longer, Annabelle sprang from the carriage, and before Sir Henry could stop her, she had rushed over to her cousin.

  The grass was damp and an early morning mist clung to her clothes, but she did not feel the chill. All she could think of was Edward.

  As she called his name, he turned to face her, shocked as if an early morning specter stood before him.

  His
eyes blazed.

  “Cousin, what are you doing here? This is no place for you. Go back to the carriage, to your husband.”

  The words came out coldly.

  “But cousin, dear Edward, why are you doing this? The things you said earlier …”

  The man sneered.

  “I know not what you mean, cousin. I may have flattered you with a few pretty words. That means nothing. I am a rake and a liar, and you should not waste your time over me, Annie.”

  The girl stood her ground, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “But Edward, I cannot believe that you did not mean those things. The poetry … the rose. Remember?”

  Edward Lennox’s face hardened.

  “You read too much into my words and actions, cousin. See, I had already forgotten. Do you know why I was challenged to a duel tonight? I was making advances on a pretty young thing in the ale house tonight. The young Lord, too, had his eye on her and we fought. Now, we duel. You see, I am a womanizer. You, dear cousin, mean nothing to me. Now, go back to your dear crippled husband and the safety of the Manor.”

  Turning his back on her, it was the end of the conversation.

  Poor Annabelle could not believe her ears. The tears rolled down her cheeks, her whole body shaking and numb.

  He did not love her. He had lied.

  Wiping her eyes, she returned to the carriage. There was nothing left she could do.

  Sir Henry was already in the carriage, and although he had watched the girl intently, he could not hear the conversation. The two sat in silence, as they watched the duel.

  The two men stood back to back. They were to walk fifteen paces and fire. As the men set off to the count of fifteen, Annabelle closed her eyes and gripped her hands anxiously together. Her heart hammered in her chest, and as the men turned to face each other, she thought she would faint.

  Two shots rang out into the still morning air, disturbing the partridges and pheasants, and causing a flurry and flutter of wings beating against the air.

  Annabelle slowly opened her eyes. Both men stood, both had missed.