The Duke's Ward
Book One
in
The Reluctant Duke
Series
By
Fenella J Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of The Author - Fenella J. Miller
The Duke's Ward © Copyright Fenella J. Miller, 2019
This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
COVER DESIGN BY JANE DIXON-SMITH
Chapter One
December 1809, Portugal
A musket ball ricocheted against the wall and Major Richard Sinclair flinched. He was pressed hard against the side of an abandoned cottage. He coughed and wiped his mouth. The enemy skirmishers had pinned him and his sergeant into a corner. If his battalion didn’t arrive in the next few minutes they were done for.
He wasn't used to retreating, not in battle or in life. This forced march through Spain was a desperate attempt to reach Corunna where the ships were waiting to evacuate the troops back to England. It was the very devil. More men had been lost to the weather than to any French soldier.
Lt Gen, Sir John Moore had marshalled his men and if it wasn't for his bravery more would have perished. Despite the atrocious conditions, so far he'd lost none of his battalion to the elements.
'Major, sir, we ain't going to get out of here easy like. No sign of assistance neither. I reckon the men marched on and ain't noticed we're missing.'
Sgt Major Riley had been obliged to put his mouth adjacent to Richard's ear in order to make himself heard. 'We'll have to make a run for it. If we can climb over the wall without being hit, I think we've got a chance. Are you ready?'
'Yes, sir. I think the buggers will rush us any minute.'
The wall to which he'd referred was more than six feet in height, a few inches shorter than his sergeant and himself, so he could see that on the other side was a steep slope covered in thickets and scrub. There were trees at the bottom which would provide the necessary cover to enable them to make good their escape.
Richard steadied his breathing, reached out with one hand and gripped the top of the stonework. Then in one fluid movement hauled himself up and rolled to the other side. His sergeant landed beside him. His breath hissed through his teeth. They were unscathed – nothing short of a damned miracle.
He pounded down the hill but, as he gathered speed, he lost control of his feet. His boot snagged in a bush. He completed the remainder of the journey somersaulting painfully but staggered to his feet, bruised and bleeding, but relatively unharmed.
Riley had managed to remain upright and was having difficulty keeping his amusement hidden. 'You all right, major? Took a nasty tumble there, you did.'
'Less talking, more running. We're sitting ducks if we remain where we are.'
They were in the safety of the woods when the musket fire resumed and he prayed the pursuing Frenchmen would abandon their chase. These soldiers were not as disciplined as the English and would take the easiest way forward when they could.
They jogged in single file and silence through the trees. It was marginally warmer beneath the naked branches but if they didn't rejoin the column before dark they would be in trouble. Being out here without heat and food overnight might well prove fatal.
'I reckon I can hear the column, major, it ain't no more than a mile or two ahead.'
Richard stopped and listened. Yes – his sergeant was correct. 'If we take it at the double, Riley, we'll arrive long before dark.'
They were both tired but the exertion had at least kept them warm. He was fortunate in that he had a thick greatcoat on over his uniform, his sergeant wasn't so lucky. However, he'd found a thick horse blanket, cut a slit in the top, and then dropped it over his head.
They were greeted with cheers and shouts of recognition when they caught up with his battalion. Lt Howard raced to his side. 'Thank God you're here, sir, I was in two minds whether we should turn back for you but decided against it. I hope I made the right decision.'
He clapped the young man on the shoulder. 'You did indeed. The men are fatigued, better they kept going.' He pointed to a rocky outcrop a mile ahead. 'We'll make camp there. The men will have shelter from the biting wind and there's a stand of trees where they can find firewood.'
There would only be water and hard biscuit, but at least they could get warm. His sergeant usually managed to find him something more palatable but he was content to eat whatever his men had. A few flakes of snow began to fall as he sat, leaning against the rock face, cradling a tin mug of weak tea in his hands. God knows where Riley had found this but it was much appreciated.
In the darkness he could see the glow of dozens of campfires. No doubt any Frenchies following would also see them. 'Riley, is there still a pursuit, do you think?'
'I sent a couple of skirmishers to investigate, sir, and they reported that they saw no sign of an encampment. I reckon they've given up and are content to leave us to battle with the weather.'
'I pray to God that you don't find any of my men frozen stiff in the morning.'
Two of his young lieutenants approached and saluted – hardly necessary in the circumstances. 'Major Sinclair, sir, sentries are in position and will be changed every four hours as instructed.'
'Excellent. Try and get some sleep between shifts, gentlemen. We have a long and difficult few days ahead of us and I've no intention of losing any of you.'
They vanished into the darkness leaving him alone with his sergeant. 'My main concern, Riley, is that the ships will leave without us and we'll be marooned in Corunna for the winter.'
'The young gentleman what went ahead on your horse should be back in the morning with news. An officer shouldn't be walking, you should be riding like a proper gentleman.'
'Get some sleep, sergeant, but for God's sake keep the fire going.' Richard rolled himself up in his greatcoat and used his haversack for a pillow.
The next morning he got up stiff and cold and was delighted to see there'd been no further snow. The sky was clear and blue, the wind had dropped, and it was perfect marching weather. Well – as perfect as the elements could be at the beginning of December.
Three days later they caught up with the tail end of the army. They were greeted with raucous shouts from those who saw them. He had now regained the use of his mount and rode ahead to find his commanding officer.
'Well done, Sinclair, well done indeed. How many men did you lose to the cold?'
'Three, and they were already sickening for something. We buried them. And you, sir?'
'Too damn many. Lost more to the weather than I did to the Frenchies. I'm riding ahead to the port to ensure there's sufficient room in the ships to take everyone. It's a damned horrible sea crossing but at least we should be home for the festive season.'
Richard swung back into the saddle and rode beside him satisfied he'd completed his task with honour. It would be good to be back in England although he had no family, no home of his own, to return to. He was an only child and his mother had died at his birth. His father had never forgiven him for the loss of his beloved wife and Richard had been left to the care of servants until he was old enough to be packed off to school.
He'd shed no tears when he'd received the letter telling him of the demise of his remaining parent. To his
surprise there'd been a sizeable inheritance which he'd yet to claim. He couldn't resign his commission in the middle of a war, but when Boney was defeated he would return to civilian life and buy himself a tidy estate, find himself a pretty bride and live the life of a country gentleman.
He would leave his three lieutenants and Sergeant Major Riley to take care of the brigade. He would find himself a billet for the next few nights as it appeared they would not be embarking immediately as the weather had worsened. There was a fierce storm battering the harbour making it impossible for any vessels to leave safely.
That night he sat with the other officers, drinking a decent claret in the modest sitting room of the house that had been reserved for them, content with his lot.
'I say, Sinclair, there was a scholarly gentleman enquiring after you. Did he find you?' Lord Christopher Rowley, better known to his friends as Kit, asked as he drained his fourth glass.
'Did he say why he wanted to find me?'
One of the other officers waved his glass in the air. 'Come to dun you for your debts, has he?'
Richard pushed himself to his feet. 'Unlike you, you buffoon, I have none. I pay my way.' He nodded around the circle of semi-inebriated gentlemen. 'Excuse me, I'd better go in search of this person for I'll not sleep soundly until I discover why he's searching for me.'
He could think of only one possible reason and this was that the lawyers who'd informed him of his inheritance had become impatient with getting no response. This seemed unlikely as even if he had kicked the bucket, he had no heirs who would be clamouring to inherit.
He pulled his shako down over his ears and turned his collar up. His muffler covered his nose and mouth and kept the worst of the biting wind at bay. This Spanish port was overrun with military. He sincerely hoped none of his men ended up on a charge for being drunk and disorderly. He'd heard tell of the most appalling behaviour after they'd driven the Spanish from Portugal – to think that English soldiers had looted, raped and murdered innocent civilians made his blood boil.
Many of those concerned had been apprehended and hung. Hopefully that would be warning enough to keep his men from behaving like savages.
The last time this mystery gentleman had been seen making enquiries was at the disembarkation point. He would start there and was determined not to retire until he'd discovered why a stranger was seeking him so urgently.
Chapter Two
December 1809, Suffolk, England
'Amanda, I am in despair. We cannot possibly pay these demands this quarter. I cannot for the life of me imagine where the money has gone or how it has gone so quickly.'
'Mama, you know very well that spending so much on frills and furbelows was an unwise decision. I warned you that this year would end in disaster for us if we did not retrench. You have chosen to ignore my advice.'
Amanda was well aware that anything she said to her mother on the subject of finance would be ignored. Since Papa had died from an apoplexy two years ago they had been living in straitened circumstances. Until the new Duke of Denchester could be found and take up the reins of the estate they were obliged to live from hand to mouth. The wretched lawyers wouldn't release any funds, apart from the quarterly rents from the estate. They had no access to the vast amount that was now languishing in the hands of the banks with whom her father had dealt.
Her mother waved her hands as if dismissing her daughter. 'Anyway, my love, no one is going to press us to pay as they are well aware that once the duke is here everything will be paid. Denchester Hall has been the home to the Sinclair family for hundreds of years…'
'That's all very well, but tradespeople have to feed their families and I'm not prepared to keep living on their charity. We have the quarterly rents and that would be more than sufficient to keep us fed and clothed, to pay the wages of our staff, if you behaved as you should.'
'I cannot allow my daughters or myself to promenade in public wearing last year's fashions. We are the most important family in the neighbourhood – indeed – I believe I am the only duchess in Suffolk. It behoves us to keep up appearances whatever you might think to the contrary.'
Her sister, Beth, who was seventeen years of age was the image of their mother and had her golden curls and bright blue eyes. She was sweet-natured but, sadly, lacked intelligence. Sarah, at eighteen, was equally beautiful, and her dearest friend. Unfortunately, the golden curls and periwinkle-blue eyes had not been passed on to her. She was, so she had been told on many occasions, the image of her father. He had been tall, broad-shouldered but could not have been called handsome by any stretch of the imagination. His saving grace had been his nut-brown hair and pale green eyes.
'That is not why I came to see you, Mama. I told you weeks ago that we cannot afford to live in this vast place any longer.'
'I misremember hearing such a thing. Where are your sisters? I have not set eyes on them this age.'
'As you very well know today is the day that we all transfer to the Dower House. If you took the slightest interest in what's going on around you, you would have noticed that holland covers have been placed on the furniture in all the reception rooms apart from this one.'
Her mother's eyes rounded. 'I am not going to leave my home on your say so. I am a duchess and intend to remain here as my position demands.'
Amanda stood up. 'My sisters have already departed. Their belongings were transferred yesterday, as were mine. Your abigail will have completed your packing and your trunks are going to be removed forthwith.' She hated to speak so firmly to her parent but, with no head of the household to take over such decisions, it was left to her to keep the family from ruin.
She scooped up the latest pile of bills from the side table upon which Mama had strewn them. 'This place is too big, too cold and too expensive to run. I promise you we'll be more comfortable in the Dower House.'
Her mother sniffed loudly and dabbed at her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief. 'You are a bully, Amanda, like your father you have no regard for a person's sensibilities. I shall come with you because I have no option but to do so.' She pushed herself upright. 'However, I do assure you that I shall not enjoy my new home one jot.'
The Dower House was situated a few hundred yards from the main edifice. It had been thoroughly cleaned and aired and would be ideal for the three of them. What her mother didn't understand was that as the Dowager Duchess of Denchester she no longer had the right to occupy the Hall. Whoever the duke might be, he could very well be married and have a family of his own and not wish to share his home with them.
It was a mystery and concern to her that two years since the demise of her father the lawyers had yet to find the man who had inherited the title and the vast fortune that went with it. She had been assured there was a direct line of descent from her great-grandfather to one Richard Sinclair. This gentleman's connection to the family was via a younger brother.
Her sisters were waiting eagerly to greet them in the modest entrance hall. 'Amanda, I cannot tell you how much I like this place despite my reservations,' Sarah said. 'It is warmer and more than adequate for our needs. We should have moved here months ago.'
'Indeed, we should. I'm counting on you, sister, to convince our mother I have made the right decision for us all. Where is Beth? Is she very disturbed by the change of circumstances?'
'Nanny has taken her to the nursery floor and she's happily arranging her dolls.'
The garrulous voice of their parent interrupted the conversation. 'Am I to be ignored in this way? Where is Foster? Where is Jennings? Are we not to have a butler or housekeeper at this inferior establishment?'
'They have remained at the Hall in order to organise a thorough clean of the place so that it's in order when its new occupant eventually arrives. The senior footman, Smith, will act as butler here and the under-housekeeper, Bentley, will assume the duties of housekeeper. I'm sure you'll not find them wanting in their duties.'
'I cannot remember ever having set foot in this house before. Direct me t
o the drawing room, Amanda.'
'You'll find it through those double doors to the right of you. Refreshments will be brought directly. Are you not to go upstairs and remove your outer garments first?'
'Reynolds can tend to that when she arrives. No doubt it will be unpleasantly chill in the drawing room, so keeping on my hat and pelisse is of no consequence.'
Mama had not taken this change of circumstances well, but at least she was in situ. Amanda had half a dozen letters to peruse and intended to take care of business before she joined her parent in the perfectly warm and pleasant drawing room.
The family did not regroup until dinner which was served at five o'clock. Amanda had ordered a simple repast, no removes and only three courses. No doubt mama would complain about this too. At least she had good news to share with them and there had been very little of that these past two years.
When they were settled and drinking their soup she thought she would make her announcement. 'I heard from London today. The head of the family, one Major Richard Sinclair, now his grace, the Duke of Denchester, has finally been located.'
'At last, where has he been for so long? Why has he ignored his responsibilities? Your departed father must be turning in his grave at such dereliction of duty.'
'Is he to arrive before Christmas, Amanda? That's only just over three weeks away,' Sarah said. Beth continued to drink her soup.
'That I do not know for sure, but I think it fairly certain we'll not see him until the new year at the earliest. He's with the army in Spain and awaiting a ship to bring him back to England.'
This was not a complete fabrication but neither was it the absolute truth. It was better that they didn't know the full story. His grace had not in fact been told directly of his elevation, the lawyers had merely said they now knew where he was and were sending a clerk with a letter to Corunna in the hope of locating him.
The Duke's Ward (The Reluctant Duke Book 1) Page 1
