Undressed to Impress the Duke : A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Scarlett Osborne

  Lady Julia had called for her breakfast to be sent up to her bed chamber that morning. She sat, sipping her tea. She was worried for the Duke. She wondered what would become of her should he die. She supposed her father would find another husband. She could only hope that he wouldn’t find out about Lord Sommerset.

  She couldn’t quite imagine marrying the Earl. He had seemed to treat her like an object, to be won. Even the Duke of Durnsott treated her like a person.

  She glanced over to where Eleanor was setting out her clothing for the day. Julia looked at her closely, noting the furrow in her brow, and the way that her mouth curved downward. She detected a slight pinkness to her nose, and around her eyes.

  Almost as if she’s been crying. Her heart went out to Eleanor—she was such a sensitive soul, who always worried about everyone else.

  “Eleanor, you’re very pale,” she said gently. “Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m just worried, My Lady.” Eleanor did not look up from what she was doing, setting out the pair of silk stockings beside the petticoat and corset.

  “For the Duke of Durnsott?” Eleanor nodded, her eyes still on her task. “Yes. We all are. He will wake up, Eleanor,” Lady Julia assured her. “The surgeon said that his injuries were not so severe.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Yes, of course, My Lady.” She attempted to smile, but failed. “It was all so sudden.”

  “Accidents often are.” Julia sipped the dregs of her tea.

  “Yes. I heard this morning at breakfast that one of the Norfolk Trotters had to be put down,” Eleanor told her. Julia internally relaxed—that explained Eleanor’s tears. She loved horses, more than she did people.

  “Is the other all right?” Lady Julia asked, realization dawning on her. Poor Eleanor—she couldn’t bear for any creature to suffer needlessly.

  “The groom says that he’s injured, but will survive,” she replied.

  “Good to hear,” Julia said, trying to sound cheerful. “Why don’t we go down to the stables, see how he’s faring? We can bring him an apple, perhaps.”

  This brought a genuine smile to Eleanor’s face, one which didn’t reach her eyes. “Really, My Lady?”

  “Yes. Help me dress, and then we shall go,” Julia told her. She could brave the stables, where there would be a solid door between herself and the large animals.

  “You don’t have to,” Eleanor said. “You—”

  “I’d like to,” Julia insisted. “It’ll be good to get out of the house. We can take a turn about the gardens, too.”

  Anything but sit around and fret. Julia was no use to anyone at the current time, anyway. The Dowager Duchess and Lord Ayles had been inconsolable the night before. While the company all waited for word from the surgeon on how the Duke was, the Dowager Duchess had been in tears. Lord Ayles had been silent, grimly staring into the fire. Lord Mallen had kept up a steady stream of conversation, trying to comfort everyone all at the same time. Julia hadn’t known what to do in the face of such tragedy. In all her life, she had never experienced it herself.

  My life has been so protected, she thought. I’ve never truly hurt nor wanted for anything. That was, not until she had met Lord Ayles. Now, all she did was want.

  Chapter 25

  Aaron opened his eyes to find that he was looking up at the familiar ceiling over his own bed at Myrtlegrove Manor. He did not recall how he got there, which was, in a way, odd.

  Morning light was spilling through the windows, which were open to let in a cool breeze which stirred the heavy damask curtains. When he turned his head, he found Arthur, seated in one of his armchairs, reading a newspaper.

  The accident came back to him, slowly. A loud crack, the carriage tipping over as it plunged off of the road. The horses, screaming in pain or fear. Then complete darkness until he had woken up, just this morning. He inhaled, then exhaled. He assessed the damage—his head hurt. His temple felt tight, sore; it throbbed with a little painful heartbeat of its own. When he wiggled his fingers and his toes, he found that his left knee was stiff, possibly sprained.

  “What happened, Arthur? Who brought me here?” he asked hoarsely, listening as the paper rustled. He turned his head to find Arthur’s smiling face, peering over the paper. He adjusted his spectacles on his nose, setting his reading material to the side.

  “You’re awake!” Arthur said, clearly relieved. “Good. The surgeon said that you would be. There was an accident, and your carriage fell off of the road. You’ve got a good crack to the temple. He stitched you up. He says that your knee was twisted in the accident, sprained, but not broken.”

  “Are Bradshaw and Northrup all right?” Aaron asked.

  Arthur cleared his throat before continuing. “The valet is fine, last that I heard. He broke his arm in the crash, but is well enough now that it’s been set. He’ll be up and walking about in no time at all from the sound of it.”

  Aaron noted how his friend seemed to not want to say anything about Northrup. He knew, in his gut, that it was bad. He prepared himself for grim news.

  “But the coachman,” Arthur went on, almost reading Aaron’s mind, “I’m sad to report, died on impact.”

  Aaron exhaled, closing his eyes. Grief washed through him. His own father had hired Mr. Northrup, back when Aaron was a child. He had been a fixture at Myrtlegrove Manor for as long as Aaron could remember.

  “And the horses?” Aaron asked, figuring that if the driver hadn’t lived, then his prized Norfolk Trotters were in a bad way as well. They were a matched pair, which Aaron had bred and raised himself.

  “I’m sorry, Aaron,” Arthur said. “Martin had to put Lir down—his leg was broken. Lugh is injured, but healing. He was stabbed by the carriage shaft, but it was taken out, and he’s been stitched up.” That was another pang of grief. He closed his eyes. How had it happened, exactly? Northrup was a seasoned coachman. He knew the roads around Durnsott county well.

  “I have to get up,” he said, trying to sit up. As he moved, there was another pang inside of his skull, and another in his knee. He groaned, fighting against it. There was an accompanying wave of nausea, and his lips felt cold.

  “No, you don’t.” Regardless, Arthur helped him into a sitting position, but arranged the pillows behind him so that he was comfortable. Aaron felt weak. “You’re to stay in bed, My Friend.”

  “I have—so much to see to,” Aaron insisted. He needed to see Mr. Northrup’s wife, to give his condolences. Perhaps, to offer to pay for the funeral expenses.

  “I’ll call for a tray to be sent up,” Arthur suggested. “Some tea and toast would do you good. Perhaps Jack and I can see to whatever it is that you need done.” Aaron couldn’t deny that he was right. His stomach growled at the suggestion of sustenance. “Is there anything else that you need?”

  There was only one person he wanted, and he wanted her with a surge of need so deep, that it hurt him. Here he lay, injured. Had he fallen any harder, the damage to his head might have been fatal.

  “I need to see Eleanor,” he said, wishing desperately just to see her face. She would have been terrified to hear of his accident. He yearned for her presence. She would be a balm to his grieving spirit.

  “How?” Arthur blinked at him, actually asking how Aaron wanted to accomplish this. There was only one way.

  “Send for Lady Julia.” His voice was rough. Aaron’s lips were dry, cracked. He wouldn’t be able to speak to Eleanor, or to hold her. But the sight of her would be enough.

  “You should dress before we send for the lady,” Arthur suggested.

  Aaron looked down, realizing he was in his nightshirt, and naught else. He nodded, pulling the covers up over himself.

  “Where’s your dressing gown?” Arthur asked, getting up. “You need to be at least decent. And your hair—we should comb it.”

  Aaron laughed. “Are you going to be my valet, Arthur?”

  “Needs must,” Arthur replied.

  Eleanor and Lady Julia re-entered the house, after taking a
turn around the gardens. Before that, they had gone to the stables, to see Lugh. The horse had a bandage, where the carriage shaft had pierced him as it broke. However, his dark eyes had been clear, and he had taken the proffered apple, munching contentedly.

  Martin had been happy to assure them both that Lugh, named after the Celtic god, was on the mend. Though, it would be a long while before he would be back to pulling any carriages.

  “Lady Julia,” Mr. Stanley called out. He was walking toward them, a smile on his face. “The Duke has awoken! He is asking for your presence at his sickbed.” Eleanor had never seen Mr. Stanley smile. However, he was beaming, clearly pleased to deliver this good news.

  “We’ll go right away,” Lady Julia assured him. Eleanor felt a rush of relief. Aaron was awake! That meant that he was going to fine. It was like a large weight had been lifted off of her chest.

  “I’m surprised that he wants to see me,” Lady Julia murmured as they climbed the stairs.

  “Isn’t that how he should act?” Eleanor replied. It was the act of a gentleman in love—to ask to see his future bride-to-be.

  “Yes. I suppose so.”

  Eleanor couldn’t say anything more. She was so overcome with emotion, she could think of nothing else.

  When they entered the room, Lord Mallen was standing beside the bed. Aaron was seated, leaning back against the pillows. He wore a dark crimson dressing gown over his nightshirt. His hair had been combed and pulled back in his usual low ponytail. His eyes went immediately to Eleanor.

  She felt another wave of relief to see that he was awake. But he had a nasty cut, which was sutured, winding down from his temple toward his mouth. It made his face no less dear to her.

  “It is good to see you awake, Your Grace,” Lady Julia said, sitting down in the chair pulled up beside the bed for visitors.

  “Thank you for coming, My Lady,” he said. Eleanor was looking him over, assessing his hurts. She wanted to cry, out of relief that he was alive and speaking. It seemed almost a miracle, after how grievously he’d been hurt.

  “You were the first person he wanted to see,” Lord Mallen said, though he was looking at Eleanor, raising an eyebrow to see that she had received the message.

  She smiled at Lord Mallen, nodding. Eleanor’s knees were weak, and she sank down into a chair beside the door. She was overwhelmed by emotions, as she never had before.

  “Come, My Lady,” Lord Mallen said to Lady Julia. “Look at this!” He led Lady Julia over to the windows. “Don’t you love this view? You can see the lake from here.” Lady Julia stood, walking over to the window.

  Eleanor’s eyes met Aaron’s. He smiled at her. His eyes said everything—they seemed to melt when he beheld her. His lips curved upward. He began to hold out his hand to clasp hers, but then stopped, remembering himself.

  “How do you feel, Your Grace?” she asked, moving to the chair closer to the bed. She sat down on it, her hands on the brocade armrests. She barely registered the room, what it looked like. Her eyes were on him, marveling at how present he was.

  “Like I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse,” he replied.

  “We were all very frightened for you,” Eleanor said, by which she meant, “I was terrified that I lost you.”

  Lord Mallen and Lady Julia were by the window, deep in conversation. She quickly reached out, touching his hand, where it lay on top of the soft dark blue bedspread. He ran his finger down the inside of her wrist, eliciting such a response from her. It was over in a second. Their eyes locked. Eleanor quickly folded her hands in her lap.

  “Lady Julia and I went down to the stables,” she told him, knowing that he would want to hear. “Lugh seems to be doing well. His injury is not severe.”

  His eyes were sad, but his lips quirked upwards. “Is he?” Eleanor nodded.

  “Indeed, he is,” Lady Julia said, turning back toward them. “Certainly well enough to accept an apple. Shall I call for anything for you, Your Grace?”

  “No need, My Lady. But you are very kind,” Aaron said. “Lord Mallen has sent for tea and toast to be sent up already.”

  “Well, if there is some small comfort that I might provide you, do ask.” Eleanor knew that Lady Julia was ready to leave. She stood, reluctantly.

  “You are too kind, My Lady. Just your presence here is a balm in itself,” Aaron said.

  “Well, Eleanor and I shall let you get your rest,” Lady Julia announced. Eleanor and Aaron’s eyes met one last time.

  “Thank you for coming to see me,” Aaron said. “Both of you.” Eleanor had to tear herself away. She felt like crying again, but she forced herself to leave the room, along with Lady Julia.

  He was alive, that was all that mattered. She had the overwhelming feeling that this wasn’t the only bad thing that was going to happen. Although, she couldn’t say why.

  Chapter 26

  Aaron remained in bed for as long as he could stand. The surgeon had stopped by later that morning, and had proclaimed him out of any danger. He had also said that he should stay in bed, to heal. And that he would need the use of a cane to walk, while his knee was healing.

  He needed to walk about. To think. He needed to get to the stables, to see to his horses. He needed to visit Northrup’s widow. Most of all, he wanted to sneak off to the millhouse with Eleanor.

  “Your cane, Your Grace,” Mr. Stanley said, entering. It was made of cherry wood, with a fine ebony handle, made by the woodworker in town. It was finished, sleek. “It’s the finest one that Mr. Hawkins had in his shop.”

  “Thank you, Stanley,” Aaron replied, taking it. He swung his legs gingerly off of the bed, setting both feet on the floor. He tested it, putting his weight on the cane, his hand on the smooth black handle. “Send for my valet, please.”

  Mr. Stanley raised his eyebrows. He had heard what the physician had said. However, he replied, “Mr. Bradshaw is resting. His arm is broken. Not to mention, I heard the surgeon say that you should be resting, as well.”

  His chin shook as he spoke. Aaron smiled at him warmly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you were concerned for me, Stanley.”

  Stanley smiled. “I saw you when you were brought in last night, Your Grace,” he replied. “Your head was broken open, and I thought you were done for this world.”

  Aaron was touched by his concern. Mr. Stanley, like Northrup, had been hired by his father. He had been around Myrtlegrove Manor, even before Aaron’s birth.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Bradshaw. That’s all,” he said. “Is he well enough to come upstairs? I’d go to him, but…” He trailed off, wondering if he could even make it to the window.

  “I will go and find out, Your Grace.” Mr. Stanley left. Aaron tied his dressing gown closed, then hobbled over to the window. He moved slowly, agonizingly. His head swam, and his left knee was barely able to take any weight at all, to his utter disappointment.

  I may have to wait before I can go anywhere, he thought helplessly. He looked out to find that the Stanhope Gig was in the drive. He watched as Louisa, Lady Whitecier, and Lady Julia climbed in. He wondered where they were going, and how long they would be out.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Aaron called out, and Bradshaw entered. His arm had been reset, and was in a splint. He had a few visible bruises, but was otherwise unharmed.

  “Bradshaw! I’ve never been so relieved to hear that someone had merely broken his arm!” he said, slowly hobbling back to his bed, where he sank down. His strength wasn’t at all what it normally was.

  Bradshaw smiled. “As am I, Your Grace.” He bowed to him.

  “Do you need to take some time off, Bradshaw? I wouldn’t want you back on the job, until you’re good and ready. Stanley’s been dressing Lord Ayles, and I daresay, he could do so for me once I’m ready.”

  “No, Your Grace. I’m able to do most things. Just a little slower than usual, is all. I start back later this week. Though, if you need anything right now, I’m more than happy to assist
you.”

  “Actually, if you can do me a small favor,” Aaron said, getting an idea. “Can you go and fetch Eleanor for me? And then, I do want you to take this week off—if only to let yourself rest a bit.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace,” Bradshaw said, bowing. “Very kind of you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Aaron said, sinking back into the pillows, where he waited for Eleanor to come. He closed his eyes—his energy was utterly spent.

  Eleanor was doing some mending. Lady Julia had worn through the toe on one of her silk stockings, and she needed them fixed as soon as possible. While they were so far from London, silk stockings of this caliber were hard to come by. The haberdashery in the small town was good, but not nearly as good as a London one.